


Yuri Plisetsky's Guide to Growing Up

by gay-theprayaway (otomemiyakatsumi331)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Background Victuuri - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Puberty, Slow Burn, Yuri centric, background milasara, i didn't tag them since they aren't a focus, some discussion of teenage sexuality, swearing worthy of yuri plisetsky's potty mouth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otomemiyakatsumi331/pseuds/gay-theprayaway
Summary: After the Grand Prix Final, Yuri Plisetsky's life returns to normal. Well... as normal as it can get when you're the world's youngest Grand Prix Final gold medalist, when Victor Nikiforov is returning to skating, when his Japanese figure skating powerhouse of a fiancé starts training with you, and when you've finally made your first ever best friend.





	1. Chelyabinsk - Russian Nationals 2017

Yuri Plisetsky stands in the St. Petersburg airport, a mess of jangled up emotions. How exactly, he thinks, are you supposed to say goodbye to someone who you’ve been friends with for a grand total of three days? It’s not like Yuri is exactly an expert on having friends, seeing as the only people who were even anything close to it were his 65-year-old coach, his coach’s prima ballerina ex-wife, the star of Russian figure skating who was looking to make next season a real hell on earth, and the skater who had lost to him a day ago by the slimmest margin (not that he would ever admit out loud that he had even considered the notion of Katsuki being his friend). So he stands, unsure of what to do with his hands, staring down Otabek at the airport gate. It had been pretty nice that they’d booked the same flight back to St. Petersburg, but now Otabek waits to board his own flight back to Almaty. 

“So, I guess this is it,” he says a little lamely, though Otabek spares him by nodding gravely as if he’s just said something very important. 

“Yup. Plane’s going to start boarding soon, so I should head over.” Otabek is a man of few words, (though they’re usually good words) and Yuri can appreciate that reticence. He glances down at the hand that’s been thrust at him, the same as three days ago when Otabek asked to be his friend. He shakes it, glad of something straightforward, though he’s still a little worried. Do they hug after this? 

“I’ll text you when I land,” Otabek says, and with that he’s gone, along with all of Yuri’s vapid worries about misreading social cues. It’s been a hell of a relief to talk with another skater who speaks Russian who isn’t Viktor (head up Katsuki’s ass) Nikiforov, or Mila (gay for Sara Crispino) Babicheva. He’s never had someone to wish safe travels to, or to check in on. But again, he is new to this whole being-friends-with-someone-sort-of-his-own-age thing. Besides Mila, but she’s annoying and also a girl. Being friends with girls is different. He figures all he can really do is take everything in stride and hope for the best.

Mila is blowing up his phone telling him to get his ass back. He takes a sort of vindictive pleasure in knowing that he’s holding up everyone else — though that also means that Yakov’s probably pissed, which is never a terribly fun experience.

“Hey just because you think you’re some kind of gold medal bigshot now doesn’t mean you get to run around being more of an asshole,” Mila says as he finally saunters up to the group, but the jab is ruined by the way she throws an arm companionably around him like always. She’s not even fun to argue with anymore since she started crushing on the Crispino girl. How anyone could be beaten in competition and still be head over heels for the person escapes Yuri. 

Viktor’s tapping furiously away at his phone with the disgustingly sappy expression that means he’s probably texting Katsuki to say he made it back to Russia - which is stupid because Katsuki is obviously still on his own flight. Viktor agreed to be parted from his precious skater protegé only so he could work out details of his return to skating with Yakov and make arrangements for moving back to St. Petersburg. Yuri rolls his eyes and contents himself with the thought of Grandpa’s _pirozhki_ waiting for him at home, followed by a blissful night’s sleep in his own bed. 

The night before the flight had been a late one, what with the post competition banquet. Thankfully, Katsuki and Christophe had managed to keep their clothes on this year, though Yuri had been teasingly challenged to a dance-off again by a much soberer Katsuki. Yuri had flipped him off before stalking away to join Otabek at one of the abandoned tables. Otabek, bless his fucking face, had slid Yuri one of the champagne flutes that the waiters refused to give him. Being an internationally ranked skater seriously limited your chances of underage drinking, he’d thought bitterly as he sipped the bubbly drink.

Looking back on it, the night had been surprisingly bearable after that. It had mostly consisted of Otabek laughing at his scathing comments about Viktor and Katsuki being mushy and flashing their rings, and Yuri snorting at Otabek’s shockingly accurate impressions of JJ. After all, how could he not appreciate someone who held almost an equal amount of disdain for JJ, the fucker. Yuri had gladly spent the rest of the night thoroughly verbally abusing JJ for stealing the podium spot from Otabek. Yuri still thinks that Otabek was robbed of his spot. Who was the skater who had actually _landed_ all their jumps, huh? Even when Katsuki’s Thai friend came over, clamoring for pictures, Yuri hadn’t minded terribly. He’d just tossed a peace sign while Otabek gave a straight-faced thumbs-up. Frankly, out of their competitors the Thai boy — Yuri had thought his name might start with a P — was the least annoying besides Otabek. He just liked taking selfies, and had been goofily happy when Viktor and Katsuki got engaged. 

Mila had pulled him away for a dance — apparently that was the longest she could stay away from Sara Crispino’s side — and Yuri had been shocked to see Otabek get up and join the rest on the dance floor. For someone who had refused ballet lessons since childhood, he had moved with a surprising amount of grace, and Yuri had stuck to his side if only to avoid Katsuki and Viktor dancing together like a pair of lunatics. Yuri had always considered himself a good dancer, but he’d never enjoyed it quite as much as he did at this year’s banquet. 

In the car, Yuri buries his head underneath the protection of his hood and earbuds for the ride back. Luckily, Mila is too busy trying to remember all the Instagram handles to tag in the group photos from the banquet to bother him and Viktor has passed out after all his time zone changes in the past week. Yuri scrolls through a backlog of social media posts he missed with all the bustle of competition and travel. Lots of skaters are just now posting pictures from the banquet, complete with long-winded love notes about how wonderful the season has been, and how thankful they are for all the other skaters. Yuri’s only post has been a selfie with the first pair of sunglasses he found, holding up his gold medal. It has 350 thousand likes and counting. 

Honestly, all thoughts of Otabek really slip out of his mind as he arrives home to a joyful reunion with Grandpa and a hearty dinner. Yuri knows his winnings from this mean a lot for the two of them in the coming year, and he hopes that with this, maybe Grandpa can finally get that persistent whine in his car fixed. It’s not until he’s kicking back on the couch with a full belly that he bothers to check his phone again. He ignores a Snapchat from Mila to open Otabek’s first text beyond the perfunctory _“It’s Otabek”_ when they had exchanged numbers. 

**[from Otabek]:** Just landed. Now another two hours home… fucking traffic.

Yuri grins, imagining it in Otabek’s voice. He taps out a response before chucking his phone lazily on the couch next to him. It’ll be early back at the rink tomorrow morning, but tonight - at least - is a good night.

* * *

Yuri’s alarm goes off too fucking early in the morning, like always. He rolls over and smashes it with a wild fist before pushing himself up on his elbows to check his phone. There was a text from Otabek that had come after he’d fallen asleep and approximately five million more social media notifications.

Yuri falls surprisingly easily back into his regular routine. It’s been two days, but the Grand Prix Final already feels very distant. There’s something comforting about the familiar creaks and smells of home as he dresses to go to the rink. Mila honks her horn outside his door obnoxiously and he trots out through the frosty winter air.

“My grandpa might still be sleeping, don’t be a dick,” he snaps at her as he slides into the car. It’s toasty warm inside at least, and Yuri reminds himself again that she technically doesn’t have to drive him around. But Mila just shrugs apologetically and shifts the car into gear. 

It’s about half an hour to the rink from Yuri’s house, but it’s Yuri’s turn to choose the radio station, which always makes it a slightly better day. Mila doesn’t seem to mind the music as much as usual, she nods her head along to the beat slightly. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” he asks suspiciously.

“Why can’t I be in a good mood? I won a medal this weekend, I’m allowed to be happy.”

Yuri’s suspicions are confirmed when her phone buzzes and her eyes flick down to it expectantly. Yuri snatches it out of the cup holder.

“Hey-” she yells, but he interrupts her.

“Keep your eyes on the damn road. It’s Sara Crispino, isn’t it?”

“How did you know that?”

“I read her name right here. Also, you’ve been practically glued together since the Rostelecom Cup _and_ you were hanging all over her at the banquet.”

Mila shrugs again. It’s so much harder to get a rise out of her when she has a crush. “What did she say?”

“She just sent an emoji,” Yuri says flatly, “What’s she even doing awake right now, isn’t it like two hours earlier in Italy?”

“Which emoji was it?”

“The smiley one.”

“But was it just the regular smiley, or the one with the teeth showing?”

“It’s the blushy one,” Yuri rolls his eyes. “What are you, thirteen?”

“That’s pretty rich from the fifteen-year-old with a huge puppy crush.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” he asks, dropping her phone unceremoniously back into the cup holder.

“You’ve obviously got a huge crush on that cute Kazakh skater.”

“No I don’t,” Yuri spat back. “Besides, he’s your age.”

“Doesn’t stop you from having a crush.”

“You’re crazy. He’s just the only other bearable guy who was there.”

“Mhm,” Mila hums condescendingly, and Yuri suddenly feels like he’s lost an argument he didn’t even know he was having. He ducks behind his own phone instead and glowers for the rest of the car ride.

 **[Yuri]:** Sorry, fell asleep. Mila’s getting on my fucking nerves. How’s practice?

“You’re texting him now, aren’t you?” Mila snickers as they pull into the parking lot and Yuri flips her off with a magnificent sneer.

* * *

It’s a little surreal to see Viktor back in the rink after 8 months. Even though he’s not skating today (just getting chewed out by Yakov for being a flighty bastard), Yuri feels a bit like he’s been transported back in time. Yuri stretches out and listens to the tirade with some amusement before stepping onto the ice and lazily skating backwards laps around the edge. The others are gathered in a little clump at one end, waiting for Yakov to give them instructions, but Yuri’s always felt more at ease moving across the ice. Even if he ends up a little more tired, a little sorer than everyone else, he figures that the small amount of discomfort in his day is worth staying sharper than all the rest. At last, Yakov seems to stir out of his haze of shouting. 

“What are you all doing standing around? All of you get to practicing your routine jumps,” he bellows at them and the little group of skaters scatters, like bugs from under an overturned rock. Yuri bears down, gathering speed before digging his toe pick in and drawing his arms in for the quad toe loop. He lands solidly on his skate and returns to his laps. He knows he’s due for his own yelling session with Yakov after his stupid fall in the free skate, but it probably won’t be so bad. After all, now he knows he can skate both his routines perfectly. He’ll end up smashing Russian Nationals and Worlds too, most likely. Yuri wonders a little whether he’ll see Otabek at Worlds. After all, he’s positive that Otabek will end up doing even better at Four Continents. Then he thinks about Mila’s teasing again and the corners of his mouth fall. He does not have a puppy crush. They’re friends, and _sure_ Otabek is nice looking enough, but they’re _friends_. Fucking Mila. 

“Yurio, aren’t you excited that I’m coming back to skate with you?” Viktor asks as Yuri draws near, leaning over the edge of the rink wall.

“Don’t flatter yourself, geezer. The katsudon and I shattered your records, and even if you win next year it still won’t be six _consecutive_ gold medals.”

“Ah Yurio, always so mean…” Viktor says in a way that makes Yuri think he’s being made fun of. What a prick. You’d think that winning a goddamn Grand Prix medal might earn you some respect.

“Get used to it. You’re the one who decided to come back here anyway, and you’re dragging Katsuki too.”

“Ah, Yuuri’s going to love St. Petersburg. I can’t wait to take him to my favorite market.”

“You’re disgusting. And stop calling me Yurio. We’re not in Japan.”

“Ah but I feel like it was catching on. What, should I call you Yurochka?”

Yuri shoots him a withering look and skates off. 

* * *

Yuri watches from the edge of the rink as Georgi skates through his warmup. He’s not really close with Georgi, has always found him a bit weird, but even Yuri will admit that Georgi has definitely improved since his less-than-phenomenal performance at the Cup of China. It’s another few hours before the group he and Viktor are in will take the ice, and Viktor’s wrapped up in some facetime chat with his protegé/boyfriend/fiancé (honestly Yuri can’t keep their relationship straight), to wish Katsuki luck at Japanese nationals. He wanders away when Viktor starts cooing words in Japanese.

He plunks down in the seat next to Mila. She looks about as relaxed as Yuri feels right now, which is to say more relaxed than usual. Everyone knows Mila will trounce all the rest of the Russian competition, and Yuri’s spot is still secure since Viktor’s not exactly back in top form. That, and he’s old, much as Viktor refuses to admit it. 

“What’s up Yurio?” she says infuriatingly. To Yuri’s absolute indignation, Viktor’s stupid nickname for him has caught on after all, especially since Katsuki moved to their rink full time. It’s still weird to hear everyone speaking English when he’s so used to Yakov bellowing in Russian. Thankfully, Katsuki isn’t so selfish that he won’t try to learn Russian, so now they all speak in a weird blended language, pausing every so often to try and translate something for Katsuki. Yuri makes a point of talking as little in English as he can get away with. He isn’t trying to make it easier for Katsuki after all. 

It’s annoying having him there. That girl Yuuko, from Katsuki’s rink and Katsuki’s sister text Yuri all the time now to make sure everything is going well with their precious Yuuri. He usually just responds to them with a picture of Katsuki being sloppy and sappy with Viktor, or of a video of his jumps. That’s a skill that Yuri’s got over Katsuki at least. 

“Georgi’s doing alright, all things considered,” he comments, watching Georgi pull off a nicely executed triple axel.

“Yeah especially since that сука Anya is here.” As rinkmates they might not all get on terribly well with Georgi all the time, but everyone unanimously agrees that Anya had really pulled a shitty move on Georgi. 

“You better beat her by a huge margin,” Yuri agreed. Georgi seems remarkably undistracted by Anya, who Yuri spots sitting in the stands on the other side of the ice.

“None of them can beat me,” Mila says, slouching back confidently as the skaters on the ice are called off the rink.

“Sara Crispino beat you,” Yuri reminds her.

“Yeah but honestly I’m not bitter about that. She skates really well.”

“You’re not bitter because you want her.”

“That too,” Mila agrees amicably. It’s so annoying how he can’t even tease her properly about her crushes.

“What’s even going on with you two now anyway?”

“Mmm, nothing much. She’s going to be at the Euro Championships though, so I’ll get to see her there.”

“I hope you two fuck and get it over with.”

“I hope so, but she’s also really nice too. I might have caught feelings,” Mila says with an expression that says she’s not entirely upset about the prospect.

“God, at this rate you’re going to be just as gross as the katsudon and Viktor.”

“They’re so cute, aren’t they? I wonder how Yuuri’s nationals are going.”

“He’ll be fine. He knows his shit, doesn’t he?”

“Aw, Yurio that’s so sweet. You care, don’t you?” she asks, trying to attack him with hugs.

“Get off me! I don’t want to be hugged by you!”

“Oh, that’s right, you want to be hugged by Oooootabek!” she sings loudly and Yuri feels his ears go red. He crosses his arms and studiously ignores her. He’s come to realize that it’s usually the best way to get her to stop talking about it, and he really needs her to stop talking about it now. He doesn’t want his stomach in knots the way it always gets when he thinks about Otabek, not right before competition. 

He distracts himself by running through _Agape_ in his head. Not to say he’s worried. After all, he’s proven that he can skate it perfectly now. He just has to keep himself level headed. Viktor might not be at the top of his game right now, but he’s still Viktor. The last thing he needs to do right now is become overconfident and let Viktor steal the top spot from him. He’s got a Grand Prix medal to defend. 

Georgi is announced over the loudspeakers, and Yuri diverts his attention to the ice. 

“Давай,” Yuri calls with Mila. Georgi looks focused and calm. Yuri doesn’t particularly like Georgi’s choice of theme, but as the music starts he can see how it suits Georgi at least. The man always has been a hopeless romantic. They’ve toned back the eye makeup as well, and without the horrifying raccoon eyes the costume is slightly less appalling. He lands all his jumps quite neatly, which is a hell of a lot more than the other competitors can say right now.

“His free leg is sloppy,” Yuri says, and then claps his hands over his mouth as if shocked at what just came out of it.

“You sounded like Lilia just now,” Mila laughs at him, but she can’t rib him about it for very long. Georgi’s program is drawing to a close, and he manages a not-atrocious spin combination. He ends in his pose and the rink spectators erupt into more enthusiastic applause then they’ve heard yet today.

“We should go down and see him,” Mila says, stretching as she stands. Yuri grumbles a little but slopes after her. As they wait for Georgi’s scores, Yuri pulls out his phone and opens the official ISU app. He opens the stream for the Japanese nationals. A skater Yuri doesn’t recognize is on the ice and promptly falls on his ass after attempting a quad Salchow. The unknown skater picks himself back up and manages to finish the rest of his program with what dignity he has left before limping off the ice.

Yuri glances up and sees that Georgi’s score has put him in the lead. Yakov claps him proudly on the back in the Kiss and Cry while Georgi gives a thumbs up to the camera. Good, Yuri thinks and turns his attention back to the live stream. Somewhere among the mess of kanji on the screen he spots the one that he knows is Katsuki’s name. Sure enough, Katsuki is the next to step on the ice. Yuri wonders how the short program is going to go for him without Viktor there. The music starts and Katsuki does his little hip roll nonsense. It’s a bit harder to see his expression and the nuances of the performance from the overhead cameras, but as far as Yuri can tell, Katsuki is doing alright. He still can’t believe that Viktor was crazy enough to put all the jumps in the back half, but Katsuki pulls out the first one solidly. He nails the combination, even Yuri will admit that, and doesn’t do half badly with the quad flip. Yuri supposes that landing it in the free skate at the Grand Prix might have helped Katsuki’s confidence. He closes the app as the music finishes, not needing to watch to know that Katsuki will blow all the others out of the water. 

He strolls into the locker room to change and finds Viktor there, already gushing about his precious fiancé. 

“Yurio! Yuuri did so well in his short program, he got 108.26!”

“I saw,” Yuri grunts as he strips out of his sweats. When he looks up again, Viktor is smiling at him. “What?” Yuri asks, touching his face as if he might have gotten something on it.

“Nothing,” Viktor finally says and begins taking off his jacket. Yuri just shakes his head as he pulls on his dance belt. Frankly, he’s not sure what strings Yakov had to pull to get Viktor into Russian Nationals on such short notice. Really, Viktor should be taking this more seriously as his first performance in almost a year. Yuri steps into his Agape costume, taking care not to pull at any of the detailed beading as he slips it up and over his hips. He still wishes that he’d been able to change costumes after the Yu-topia competition, but Yakov had insisted that since he’d already been seen competing in it, he couldn’t change now. 

He sets about lacing up his skates. It occurs to him briefly that this is technically his first time competing against Viktor. Against _the_ Viktor Nikiforov, darling of Russian skating, and five-time Grand Prix gold medalist. Then he shakes the thought from his head. He’s skating against a Viktor Nikiforov who’s spent the past 8 months doing nothing but soaking in an onsen, eating fatty pork cutlet bowls, and being lovey-dovey with Katsuki. Yuri is the youngest Grand Prix gold-medalist ever. Fuck him if he can’t beat Viktor today, and for the rest of the season too.

Warmups slide by without incident. Yuri is barely even paying attention to the other skaters as he runs through his jumps and step sequences mechanically. No need to worry about putting agape into it during warmups. He spares a brief glance for Viktor doing a few of the jumps from his hastily choreographed short program. It’s surprisingly not worrying. Frankly it’s almost a comfort. Yuri’s spent most of his life watching Viktor warm up, skate, fall, and succeed. 

Time is called and he makes his way over to the edge. He’s slotted last to go, so he returns to the back room to relax with Viktor and listen to Yakov pep talk them both. The pep talk mostly involves Yakov threatening to kick Viktor off the team if he doesn’t live up to expectations. To Yuri he just says, “Do it like you do in practice and you’ll have no trouble.”

Yuri accompanies them out when it’s Viktor’s turn. The second that they step outside of the back room, all cameras are turned to them and the crowd roars. It’s about as much as Yuri expected. Viktor can probably flub his whole routine and get a standing ovation. If his career is all about surprise, then he’s surprised everyone enough by returning to the ice, even when it’s all anyone’s been asking him to do since he left. Yuri rolls his eyes slightly at the fickleness of fans. Above the wash of noise from the crowd he can hear the high-pitched shrieking that means the dreaded Yuri’s Angels have shown up en masse. He swallows a shudder, and finds himself wishing a little irrationally that Otabek was here to rescue him on a motorbike again. 

Viktor steps onto the ice, still facing Yuri and Yakov. Yakov grips Viktor’s upper arm in what Yuri supposes is meant to be a bracing manner, but he suspects it will just leave a little bruise.

“Go show the world you’re back,” Yakov tells him, and Viktor nods determinedly. Yuri meets his eye and inclines his head as if to say, _well go on then_. Viktor smiles at him, disgustingly fondly, and then makes his way to center ice. 

It doesn’t end up being Viktor Nikiforov-standard perfection, but it’s good. Yuri films the whole thing on his phone because he knows that Katsuki will be distraught if he doesn’t. Stupid Katsuki, he’s engaged to Viktor yet still acts like some vapid fan. The jumps turn out well, though they aren’t as explosive as the world is used to seeing from Viktor. The step sequence and spins can still use some work. They aren’t as crisp as usual, and Yuri figures that those are more of Katsuki’s specialty. Still, a veritable ocean of flowers and Makkachin-inspired plushies are tossed onto the ice after Viktor’s finished. Yuri ends the recording just as a notification flashes across the top of his screen. It’s a Snapchat from Otabek. Which is very weird because since when does Otabek ever actually use any of his social media?

Yuri opens it and sees a picture of Otabek smiling slightly, captioned “Давай”. Yuri can’t help but grin at that, and snaps back himself giving a thumbs up before surrendering his phone to Yakov. With final checks to make sure everything is in place under his costume and that his hair is smoothed down properly, Yuri takes the ice. A roar bubbles up from the crowd that’s at least comparable to Viktor’s. Mila’s voice manages to call out another “Давай” over the noise of the crowd and he lets himself crack a little smile. Sucking in a deep breath, he takes up his position.

Yuri rarely remembers anything but flashes of his own thoughts during routines. He knows that Grandpa and katsudon _pirozhki_ flit through his head during the first half. Then as he tires in the second half, he thinks about Otabek standing by the edge of the rink during the Grand Prix, clapping and watching him with proud eyes. Even as his muscles cry out, he holds the feeling in his mind to carry him through to the end. He stretches up toward the distant lights hanging on the ceiling as the last notes echo through and then the crowd erupts again. He spots a cat plush that looks just like Sasha and snags it before it can be cleared off the ice. Yakov is waiting by the exit to the Kiss and Cry. Yuri hadn’t even taken a moment to look at Viktor’s score before taking the ice himself, but Yakov tells him as they sit on the bench. Yuri nods, satisfied that he can beat it. Sure enough, the number 110.86 pops up on screen and Yakov hugs him, ruffling his hair proudly. Yuri favors the camera with a grin and a thumbs up, hoping that Otabek is watching. 

* * *

“Hey, Viktor. Gimme a hand with my hair,” Yuri says, brandishing a hairbrush and elastic at Viktor. Viktor shoots a look at him that seems to ask, _“Who me?”_

“Lilia’s busy yelling at Yakov and I’m not gonna interrupt her. Besides, you used to have long hair so you know how to do it, right?”

Viktor grins at him, the goofy real smile. “Of course I know how to do it. Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the bench. Yuri would rather die than admit it, but he loves to have his hair played with, and getting it done by someone before competition helps settle him. It’s been a long time since he last had anyone willing to do this for him, probably since his mother died.

“You know, I can teach you how to braid,” Viktor says as he weaves strands together.

“Why would I bother learning if I’ve got other people to do it for me?” Yuri snarks back at him.

“Because if you’re going to keep your hair long like this, it’s a really convenient style. I used to wear my hair with braids all the time. Besides, it’s a nice look.”

Yuri ignores the comment and fumes a bit. He’s sick of people calling him pretty. He knows he’s pretty and it’s gotten really annoying to never be complimented on anything else. 

“There we go,” Viktor says after a long silence. He pulls the last of Yuri’s hair through the elastic and secures it.

“Alright, thanks. Go finish warming up or whatever.”

“Good luck out there, tiger.” Yuri whips back around (almost smacking himself with his own ponytail), ready to glare. Viktor’s expression isn’t teasing though. He’s wearing that look he sometimes gets when he’s watching Katsuki skate well. It’s… proud and it makes Yuri more uncomfortable than if Viktor had actually been teasing him.

He declines to step out and watch Georgi and Viktor skate their free programs, instead finding a quiet corner. He tunes everything out but his music as he does relevé exercises like most people bounce their knee until Yakov finds him and tells him it’s time.

He, Viktor, and Georgi end up sweeping gold, silver, and bronze respectively. The second he’s freed from interviews and medal ceremonies, Viktor disappears, presumably to hop on a plane to spend the day after Christmas with Katsuki. Yuri’s never quite gotten the fuss over Christmas, (isn’t it just another stupid Church holiday?), but perhaps it’s different when Christmas is your birthday as well. Either way, he’d barely had a chance to congratulate Viktor before he’d been off. A long month of training stretches in front of the rest of the team before Euro Championships, but Yuri fully intends to take tomorrow off. 

When he finally gets home and finishes greeting Grandpa and Sasha, he checks his phone and sees a new notification from Otabek.

 **[from Otabek]:** Skype me tonight at 8 your time?

 **[Yuri]:** Why don’t you just talk to me over text?

 **[from Otabek]:** I’ve got news. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> сука (suka)= bitch  
> Давай (davai)= good luck (we all know this one!)  
> Thanks to Mari ([haganenoheichou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bondageluvr/pseuds/haganenoheichou)) for beta-ing this for me and helping me with Russian!


	2. Bratislava - European Championships 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has dinner with the dreaded lovebirds before being hauled off to Slovakia for European Championships.

Yuri’s not sure whether he likes the sound of that. At 7:50 he sits up in shock, dislodging Sasha from her comfortable position curled up on his belly. His room is a fucking wreck, and Otabek is about to Skype him. He rushes around his room in a hurry, shoving discarded clothes into a pile in his closet and debating over whether to make his bed or not. At the last second he decides it’s probably more cool guy to have it unmade, and he rips out the neatly tucked corners. 8 rolls around, and Yuri wonders who breaks first and makes the call. By the time it’s 8:02, his finger is hovering over the call button but a little pop-up informs him he has an incoming call from Otabek Altin. Scrambling to get in a position that doesn’t look weird, he sucks in a deep breath and accepts the call. 

“Hey, Yura,” Otabek says once both their cameras finish loading. Yuri had been more than a little taken aback when Otabek had asked him very bluntly whether it was alright to call him that. Yuri had sent him back a noncommittal “yeah sure”, though he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the pet name for days - not that he really thinks of it as a pet name.That’s a little too mushy for friends. At least he assumes so.

“Can we talk in English?” Yuri asks, unsure if Grandpa can hear him from downstairs. Since he doesn’t know what Otabek’s news is, he’s not sure if he wants Grandpa to be able to understand.

“Yeah, why?” Otabek replies, voice a little heavier with accent than usual as he makes the switch between languages. Yuri peers at Otabek’s surroundings on the small screen, but all he can make out is a blank patch of wall.

“My grandpa is around,” Yuri replies tacitly. “Anyway, what’s this news?”

“Well my coach has decided that we’re moving our home rink back to St. Petersburg.”

“What?”

“There aren’t many resources for us here in Almaty, so there’s not much we can do there to improve my skating.”

“But didn’t you just manage to make Almaty your home rink?”

“Yeah, but this is what’s best for my skating. The ISU all but ignores us here, and I need to have access to better facilities. After all, you Russian skaters have dominated the field for so long, what could be better than coming and learning your tricks?”

Yuri cracks a half smile at that, but continues to search Otabek’s face for signs of disappointment or regret. He only sees the usual neutral expression there. 

“When are you moving?” he asks.

“After this season ends. I… don’t know all the details yet. I just wanted to tell you first.” Yuri wonders if there’s anyone else Otabek needs to tell. After a month of chatting over text, Yuri still can’t say he knows much about Otabek’s daily life. Does he have other friends in Kazakhstan? A girlfriend? A boyfriend? Yuri thinks to himself that it’s probably not a normal-friend-thing to be jealous over hypothetical loved ones that your friend may or may not have.

The question rests on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. It’s a weird thing to ask. Instead he asks when Kazakhstan’s nationals are and looks away overwhelmed when Otabek compliments his skating at Russian nationals. Talking about skating is easy. They talk about the rest of the season’s competitions; Otabek is going to Four Continents and they’ll both (hopefully) be at Worlds. 

“Hey, you’d better beat JJ’s ass soundly at FCC or we can’t be friends anymore,” Yuri jokes. As the words tumble out of his mouth, he immediately backpedals. You can’t make jokes like that to people you’ve only known a month.

They stare at each other over the video chat for one awkward second, then Otabek cracks a little smile. 

“Of course I’ll beat him. After all, he’ll probably end up choking up again and maybe this time the judges won’t be idiots.”

Yuri can’t help but sigh out in relief. He blurts some excuse about agreeing to do something with his grandpa. He doesn’t necessarily want to hang up, but he’s also faced with the fact that he doesn’t quite know what to talk about after a blunder like that.

“Let’s talk again soon,” Otabek says, as he raises a hand goodbye. The connection cuts off and Yuri feels a wash of relief and disappointment. He flops back against his bed and tries to coax Sasha back up with him. He’s a little angry with himself. Angry that he doesn’t know how to be a normal friend. Also angry that there’s no one he can ask about it. After all, the only person he wants to ask is the very person he’s having trouble talking to. And it’s not like he’s going to give Mila the satisfaction.

* * *

It doesn’t really hit Yuri until a few days later. Otabek is moving up to St. Petersburg, where Yuri can see him more often. Maybe, just maybe, they can be like normal friends. Yuri thinks that he’d like that. It had been more fun than he’d ever had at a skating competition just having Otabek there to talk to. Before they had met, the only people he could talk to had been Mila, Yakov, or Viktor. None of those had been terribly appetizing prospects, especially since he had the three of them annoying and/or nagging him on a daily basis anyway. Yuri remembers having dinner with Otabek (before basically the rest of the men’s singles qualifiers had crashed on them), and how good it was to talk with someone else about skating. Now, they can do that together regularly. If Otabek wants to, that is. He obviously has a life of his own. Yuri never asked if he has other friends or a partner. He truthfully still doesn’t know much about Otabek at all.

Viktor and Katsuki returned last night from their brief Christmas/birthday celebrations. They look exhausted at practice this morning, and naturally that means that Katsuki is martyring himself while Viktor is complaining endlessly.

“Well, if you... go to bed like I say last night,” Katsuki says in slightly broken, heavily accented Russian.

“I did go to bed last night,” Viktor replies, with his woe-is-me face on.

“Late,” Katsuki retorts. His face scrunches up as he searches for words in Russian before giving up and switching to English. “You woke me up when you got in bed because your feet are so damn cold all the time.”

“Would you two shut it and start skating?” Yuri barks. In English, he adds, “Go skate, Katsudon!”

Katsuki leaves the wall with a fed up glance at Viktor that still manages to be sickeningly loving. Yuri wonders why anyone even bothers with relationships if it only consists of making people around you uncomfortable and bickering at each other. Just look at Yakov and Lilia, they used to be married and now they can hardly stand each other.

Yuri presses his thumbs hard into his own shoulders. He’s been aching all over the place lately, and he knows it’s growing pains. He’ll probably shoot up this spring or summer. All he can hope is that it doesn’t happen before Worlds, because sudden growth spurts will fuck up his center of balance and absolutely ruin his jumps.

“Everything okay, Yurio?” Katsuki asks, pulling to a stop beside him.

“I’m fine. You’re supposed to be practicing Russian,” Yuri snaps. 

“You don’t really want to hear my Russian,” Katsuki says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Anyway, are you sore? We have a tea at the apartment that helps with aches.”

“It’s just, fuck what’s the English word? Growing… growth…”

“Growing pains? Ah, those were the worst. Why don’t you come over tonight and have dinner, then we can give you some of that tea.”

“Sure, whatever,” Yuri says. He knows he’s being more prickly than he needs to, but Viktor wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a restful night. The stupid aching had kept Yuri up way past when he usually fell asleep, and even a stop for his favorite coffee with Mila that morning hadn’t quite settled his abraded nerves. Yuri hates puberty, hates it with all his soul. The growing pains are bad enough, but his voice keeps cracking as well, which is fucking embarrassing. It’s all because his stupid body is pumping him full of a hormone cocktail probably strong enough to kill a cow. Or at least make the cow irrationally horny and angry. Thank god he doesn’t have actual high school to deal with, or else he might have snapped by now. He’s already found himself snapping at his tutor several times this week alone.

An angry shout from Yakov snaps him out of his thoughts. He gets back to the warmups he’s supposed to be doing, but that stupid pubescent anger still seeps through. He’s sick of these stupid warmups, sick of Yakov bitching at him, sick of Katsuki and Viktor’s stupid lovebirds schtick. Frankly the only thing he’s not pissed about right now is the thought of getting a good night’s sleep, and Otabek. He sends a silent thanks to Otabek for being the only bearable human on the planet right now.

* * *

By the time practice ends, he’s managed to get his mood a bit more under control. Viktor’s stopped whining and Katsuki just waits quietly for Yuri to change. Viktor, being Viktor of course, bought himself a ludicrously expensive condo that’s only a few minutes walk from the rink. 

Katsuki and Viktor hold hands as they walk, but they manage to limit themselves to only that level of mushiness. Yuri takes a snap of it anyway and sends it to Otabek, captioned “Dinner with the lovebirds”. Otabek replies with a picture of what must be his own dinner captioned, “Tell them I said hi.” What a traitor. Yuri responds quickly with some snappy reply about how Viktor and Katsuki are too busy making out to respond. Which is not strictly true but, with the amount that they do kiss in public, Yuri feels that it’s justified. 

**[from Otabek]:** Making out in public doesn’t really sound like Katsuki. Unless he’s drunk again.

Otabek calls Katsuki by his family name as well, and Yuri’s not sure if it’s only his own sake that Otabek does, but either way he’s glad. Glad that his nickname from Otabek is just a nickname, not something made to differentiate him from Katsuki.

**[to Otabek]:** youve seen his short program right?? basically him and viktor eyefucking across the ice...

**[from Otabek]:** Pfft, you’ve got that right.

Yuri stares. It’s rare for Otabek to laugh, he knows that for sure. He wonders if Otabek genuinely laughed on the other end, and it makes him smile too just imagining it. He’d kind of like to make Otabek laugh next time they saw each other in person.

He almost bumps into Katsuki’s back when they reach the apartment complex. Viktor waves at the doorman (a doorman, really?), and they shuffle together into the elevator. At least Viktor’s not the type to go around flaunting his money in other people’s faces. He might dress well and live in an expensive apartment but he doesn’t brag and Yuri is thankful for that. Thankful that neither Viktor nor anyone else at the rink brings up his own financial situation. He wonders errantly whether Katsuki might feel a bit like him. It hadn’t seemed like his parents’ onsen was very lucrative, and figure skating costs a fuckton of money.

Yuri has been here once or twice before, so as he steps through the door he can already see Katsuki’s influence on the place. The normally austere and angular couch now has a fuzzy throw blanket draped over it, and a few small potted plants have taken up residence on the kitchen island. It looks more like someone’s home now, as opposed to the magazine-perfection it had always had before.

Yuri impatiently toes his shoes off, noting that there’s a little row of neatly lined up shoes next to the door now. Viktor places his shoes at the end of the line and gives Yuri a look that means he’s to do the same. He pads into the living room in cat print socks,and spots Makkachin curled up and dozing on one end of the couch. Yuri automatically drifts toward the dog and scratches his head gently. Cat person he may be, but he’ll never say no to petting a dog, especially one that’s not trying to lick your face.

“Sit down,” Viktor says, “Do you want something to drink?”

Yuri raises his water bottle from his practice bag. “I’m good.” 

Viktor follows Katsuki into the kitchen and he hears them debating about what to make for dinner. Yuri doesn’t listen much since Makkachin has flopped his fluffy head into Yuri’s lap. He scratches the soft fur behind the dog’s ear, then spreads his hand across the rest of the curly fur. 

Makkachin’s getting old. Viktor’s had him for practically as long as Yuri has known him, which means the dog must be at least 10 years old by now. At least he’s not jumping all over Yuri the way puppies do. Yuri has no desire to own a dog for that reason, but he’ll always have a soft spot for the poodle. 

“Hey Yurio, can you come give us a hand?” Viktor asks. Yuri reluctantly moves Makkachin’s warm head off his lap and walks with a customary scowl into the kitchen.

“We’re making a stroganoff. Can you chop the mushrooms?”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell guests not to help?” Yuri asks testily. Nevertheless he accepts the chopping board and package of mushrooms he’s handed. He starts halving the mushrooms as Katsuki hovers over pots on the stove. 

“Vitya, can you get the beef out of the fridge?”

“He calls you ‘Vitya’ now?” Yuri says, miming gagging for Viktor’s benefit. 

“Only after I asked him about a thousand times to,” Viktor says, the comment rolling off him like water off a duck. Honestly, is no one any fun to tease anymore? Yuri returns his attention to the mushrooms.

“Hey, katsudon, do you know how to say mushrooms in Russian?” he finally asks after a few moments of only the sound of cooking.

“No, how do you say mushrooms in Russian?”

“It’s  _ грибы _ . How about beef?”

They continue until dinner is ready, Yuri drilling Katsuki on the Russian names of innocuous household objects. He figures there’s no point complaining when plates and utensils are thrust into his arms, so he sets the table wordlessly. 

“I should have you teaching me Russian instead of Viktor,” Katsuki says as they all sit down. Yuri is busy with a huge, too-hot bite, which he swallows with a struggle. 

“What, is he coddling you?”

“Sort of. All he ever does is whisper sweet things to me in Russian, never anything useful.”

“Ah, but you love it when I sweet talk you in my own tongue.”

“How would you feel if I only spoke Japanese?”

“Hey, I’m learning some,” Viktor says, playing fake offended. Katsuki raises an incredulous eyebrow but ruins the effect by cracking a grin. Yuri ignores their awkward dinnertime foreplay, or whatever it is they’re doing. He’s more distracted by attempting to shovel as much food into his mouth as he can without choking. He’s done with his plate before either of them has gotten through more than half of theirs.

“I forgot that we’re feeding a teenager. I’m glad we made lots,” Katsuki says as he serves Yuri another helping. Yuri manages a quick thanks before digging in once more. It is a little embarrassing how ridiculously large his appetite has been lately, but he figures he’s got growing and hours of daily activity at the rink to thank for that. He thinks of Katsuki sympathizing with him earlier that morning. It’s good to have someone around to bitch about it to at least. He wouldn’t ever dream of bringing it up to Yakov, and Viktor was so wrapped up in his meteoric skating career as a teen that he probably didn’t even notice that he was going through puberty.

Yuri polishes off his second plate and reaches out to take more. Viktor slides the platter away from him. 

“Yakov will kill me if I let you go that far off your season diet,” he says with an apologetic shrug. Yuri responds by thunking his head against the wood of the table. He’s being overdramatic, but then again, the stroganoff is really good and he’s certain that there’s a black hole where his stomach used to sit.

“I’m glad you liked it at least,” Katsuki says as he finishes the last of his own plate. Yuri notices how Katsuki longingly glances at what’s left in the dish but seems to decide against it with a glance at Viktor. It seems that Yuri isn’t the only one having trouble sticking to his season diet. 

“You invited me over to give me that tea, right?” Yuri asks when the silence stretches a little too long. Katsuki and Viktor both seem to startle out of their own thoughts.

“Right, let’s go put the kettle on. Vitya, would you clear the plates?” Katsuki asks sweetly, and to Yuri’s great surprise, Viktor makes no complaint. He told Viktor once, by the ocean in Barcelona, that the Viktor Nikiforov he had always known was dead. Yuri still thinks that he wouldn’t take back that statement, but sometimes, seeing Viktor around Katsuki, he thinks that maybe this new Viktor isn’t all bad. Just annoying in different ways. His opinion is further sealed when Viktor puts the plates in the sink and actually starts washing them off. Katsuki hasn’t asked him, he’s just doing it of his own accord. Yuri snaps his mouth shut. Not once, ever, has he seen Viktor Nikiforov do something like that purely selflessly. Even as an adult, Viktor had always seemed a bit like a spoiled brat to Yuri, and so seeing this side of him is, well, shocking.

“Here’s a box of the tea. We always get lots, so tell us whenever you need some more,” Katsuki says, gently pushing a box of instant tea into Yuri’s chest. “This pot should be ready in just a few minutes.” Yuri clutches the box of tea, drops it in his practice bag and plops down on one of the barstools at the counter.

“I don’t need you to baby me. I can buy the tea myself,” Yuri says back, mostly because it’s kind of his knee jerk reaction to anything Katsuki says.

“Like I said, we always have tons so it’s no trouble. Besides, you can always just come over here and have some with us. A couple of old guys like us are always sore so we have it almost every night,” Katsuki says with a hint of a wry grin.

“Heh, well at least you two admit to being old.” A beat passes before he manages to get another word up past the inexplicable constriction in his throat. “Thanks.”

The kettle is whistling on the stove and Katsuki turns away to pour the hot water into mugs. Yuri’s still not sure he gets it - why Katsuki is so unfailingly nice to him when Yuri’s never been anything but abrasive and downright rude to him. Normal people respond in kind when they’re treated like that. Maybe it’s just one of those weird social mores that always seem to escape him, he thinks as he accepts his mug. The heat feels good on his eternally-chilly hands. Viktor flops on the couch next to him, as overly-familiar as always, and pulls Makkachin close to his side.

“You’re getting to be an old man too, aren’t you,” Viktor says fondly in Russian as he scratches the dog’s ear. Yuri slumps and toys with the string of his teabag, giving the contents of his mug an experimental sniff.

“That’s funny, coming from the oldest figure skater competing this year,” Katsuki replies in English, and Yuri barely stops himself from snorting out his first sip of tea.

“Have you finally gotten brave enough to tease him back, katsudon?”

“My mother always said that laughter is the main ingredient for a healthy relationship. Even if it’s at someone’s expense.”

“I’m hurt. I just had a waitress ask me for ID the other day. She looked shocked to see my age.”

“She was probably just trying to butter you up for a good tip,” Yuri mutters, and Katsuki snickers a bit at that.

“How’s the tea, Yurio?” Katsuki asks over the lip of his own mug.

“Palatable,” Yuri concedes as he takes another sip. “Can’t tell you if it’s helping any aches though. I still hurt like fuck.” Yakov had made them all do ice sprints during practice, as if they were hockey players, something about wanting to build up anaerobic endurance or whatever. 

“It usually takes half an hour to have much effect,” Katsuki shrugs. Yuri just grunts at that.

He ends up lazing on the couch with the two of them for the better part of an hour as they all nurse their mugs. Yuri does notice a loosening of tension in his muscles as time passes, and the feeling is such a relief that he gratefully downs the rest of his cup. 

At last, he looks up at the clock and realizes that he really needs to head back. The buses start shutting down in an hour, and Sasha will already be irked with him that he’s missed her dinner. With a languorous stretch he stands from the couch.

“Wow… it’s very late,” Katsuki says, testing out the Russian phrase.

“Yeah, I need to go home,” Yuri returns in kind. Katsuki’s face lights up as he comprehends Yuri’s simple sentence. In English Yuri continues, “Make sure that this idiot is teaching you some real Russian too. It’s a pain for us all at the rink.” Katsuki smiles and stands to walk Yuri to the door (which is stupid because it’s 10 feet away).

“You’re taking the bus?” Katsuki asks, eyebrows pulling together in concern.

“Don’t act like some kind of worried mother. I take the bus all the time. It’s only half an hour back home.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Yurio.”

“See you tomorrow,” Viktor calls in Russian from his spot on the couch and Katsuki repeats the phrase like a parrot. 

“Bye,” he says over his shoulder as the door clicks shut behind him. He pulls out his phone, hoping for a notification, but it’s three hours later in Kazakhstan and Otabek is bound to be sleeping. He opts to jam his headphones in instead and wraps himself up to brave the Russian winter. 

* * *

European Championships sneak up on Yuri. It feels like one day he’s going about practice as usual, then all of a sudden he’s bundled up onto a plane to Slovakia. Well technically to Vienna and then to Bratislava from there, but Yuri’s never felt the need to worry too much about the details of competition flights. Katsuki’s coming as well, presumably to make mushy faces and most likely cry when Viktor skates.

Frankly, Yuri never looks forward to European Championships. He barely knows any of the skaters there, so it’s never much fun. He sticks close to the Russian contingent as they enter and begin all the usual routines to get ready for a competition. As always, men’s singles are coming up first, so Yuri finds himself saddled with Katsuki as a stretching partner.

“Tell me when to stop,” Katsuki says as he pushes Yuri’s torso towards the floor. His Russian is getting slightly better. Yuri allows Katsuki to push him flat against the ground and pushes his hands against his inner thighs to push the stretch further. Despite continued growing pains, Yuri hasn’t shown much sign of shooting up just yet, and so his flexibility and center of balance have thankfully stayed as they are.

“You’ve seemed distracted in practice lately. I haven’t gotten a chance to ask you about it until now, but is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yuri responds testily. “And what do you mean distracted in practice? I’ve been doing my routines just fine, right?”

“It just seemed like your mind has been elsewhere.”

Yuri does  _ not _ want to discuss this with Katsuki right here and right now. Because Yuri knows that he’s been distracted lately, but he’s not about to chat with Katsuki in a public locker room about the unexpected jump his sex drive has taken recently. He’s been having to actively focus on not thinking about disgusting things at practice in the past few weeks. He reiterates the thought he’s been having quite often of late: he fucking hates hormones. Because of course his dick would decide to go crazy when he’s not even having sex with anyone and can’t fully appreciate it.

Not to mention how that sort of thought is crossing his mind with alarming frequency now. Since when has he wanted someone to have sex with? It hadn’t even really been a concern that crossed his mind until this new development.

“I’ve just been tired lately,” Yuri says. It’s not entirely untrue. He’s been having to stay up later to take care of business, which annoys him because time spent on that sort of nonsense is sleep time he can never get back. Unfortunately falling asleep with a raging boner is pretty much impossible.

“Well, there’s still some time before the competition if you want to grab a nap,” Katsuki suggests.

“Nah, I’m too keyed up for that.” Yuri turns his back on Katsuki and finishes up his stretching. 

After pulling his slot for later in the competition, Yuri makes his way to the stands, hoping that Mila is there, or at least someone he recognizes. A quick glance across the seats doesn’t reveal any glimpse of her red hair and Yuri sighs in frustration. Before he can decide what to do next, a hand is tapping his shoulder. He turns around to face a curly, brown-haired stranger.

“Sorry to bother you,” the stranger says, his voice lilting with a French accent. “You’re Yuri Plisetsky, right?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says, crossing his arms defensively.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Thomas Martin, I’m rinkmates with Christophe Giacometti.”

Wonderful, a rinkmate of the resident pervert in men’s figure skating. Yuri only tolerates Christophe because he’s Viktor’s friend, apparently. The stranger, Thomas appears expectant so Yuri reluctantly offers his hand.

“Sorry if this is weird,” Thomas says, rubbing his free hand nervously against the back of his head. “I just really admired your performance at the Grand Prix Finals and I wanted to meet you.”

Yuri processes for a moment. If this Thomas Martin is good enough to qualify at European Championships, why hasn’t Yuri seen him at any of the Grand Prix series events?

“I was there at the Grand Prix Final too actually, but I was in the junior bracket there. My birthday missed the deadline by a day.”

That would explain why Yuri doesn’t recognize him. After leaving the junior bracket, he’d all but turned a blind eye to everyone else there.

“Sucks that you missed the deadline. So are you better than Christophe?”

Thomas raises an eyebrow slightly at Yuri’s blunt question but he doesn’t seem offended by it. “I’m not better than him just yet. Someday, maybe, though.”

“Well, good luck I guess,” Yuri says, not sure what Thomas wants from him.

“Thanks, you too! I hope I’ll see you later!” At least the Swiss boy can read a social cue. Yuri glances around, momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected meeting. He spots Mila back near the locker rooms waving him over. Sara Crispino is standing next to her, which means Mila will be unbearable to be around, but even annoying company is better than no company at all. Shaking himself off, Yuri trots over.

* * *

The short program goes off without a hitch for him and Viktor. They fall into first and second once again while Christophe slides into third. Yuri flops onto his hotel bed after competitions have finished for the day and scrolls through social media. Viktor and Chris have gone out drinking, surprising exactly nobody. Katsuki got dragged along with them, and Yuri just hopes that at least one of them stays sober. Viktor and Katsuki drunk at the same time can only spell out bad news for everyone in the immediate area. 

He realizes, as his stomach starts complaining at him, that he’s starving. With a huge sigh for no one’s benefit, he hauls himself back to his feet and makes his way back downstairs to the banquet hall which has been commandeered to feed the skaters. Yuri stacks his plate high enough that Yakov would give him a chewing out if he saw. Just as he’s about to beeline for one of the empty tables, he hears a voice call his name. 

“Yuri, hey! You can sit here,” Thomas Martin says to him from a few tables over. Yuri weighs the options in his head and decides that he’d rather avoid a scene. Besides, Thomas doesn’t seem too unbearable, for the moment. 

“Your short program today looked as awesome as ever. I still can’t believe your program was choreographed by Viktor Nikiforov. What’s it like having him as a rinkmate?”

“Trust me, he’s a lot less charming in person than he appears on TV,” Yuri snorts, and Thomas laughs with him. 

“Yeah, I kind of know the feeling. Chris has all these female fans across the whole world and he always acts so flirty with them, but everyone at the rink knows he has a boyfriend at home.”

“Does he? I didn’t think a perv like him would be able to catch anyone.”

Yuri finds that he doesn’t mind talking to Thomas that much. Sure, Thomas might talk  _ a lot _ , but that just means that Yuri has to come up with fewer things to say. It does get a bit exhausting after a while though, especially when Thomas starts on such long-winded tangents that Yuri’s not even sure when he’s taking a breath. Yuri can tell already that Thomas is one of those people who’s never comfortable with silence. Not to mention how much he compliments Yuri. It’s got his ears red, having so much unnecessary praise lumped on him. 

Thomas sits almost uncomfortably close, like he doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. Maybe it’s a Swiss thing, he thinks, recalling Christophe’s lack of personal bubble (or public decency). Thomas seems to take every excuse to grab at Yuri’s arm when he laughs, or nudge him in the side to point something out.

Yuri is dead tired after the day’s competition, so he excuses himself as soon as he can get a word in edgewise.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Maybe you’ll catch me at breakfast or something.”

“Mm, sure,” Yuri answers noncommittally. 

It occurs to Yuri a little belatedly, as he’s brushing his teeth, that Thomas might have been flirting with him. He had recognized some of Christophe and Viktor’s flirting moves during their conversation but hadn’t thought much of it at the time. It makes sense, Yuri supposes. After all they are similar ages — and if there’s one thing the crazy “Yuri’s Angels” fanclub has shown him — it’s that apparently, people find him attractive. The thought has Yuri flushing again, and-

God damn his stupid body and hormones.

It can’t really be helped, so he links the courtesy chain on the door so that his roommate won’t accidentally barge in on him. The other guy is a stranger and that would be an absolutely mortifying cherry on top of an already annoying and embarrassing situation.

* * *

Yuri steps out onto the ice as Yakov claps him on the back. He wonders briefly if his coach even knows any other way to give physical reassurance. He’s hiding a small smile as he skates into the center. He’d received another good luck snapchat from Otabek and a happy, strong feeling sits high in his chest.

The music begins and he dances across the ice to the lively piano. Yakov has given him the go ahead to push his difficulty high again, so his attention is all focused forward toward the first jump coming up. Yuri launches off the ice, raising an arm above his head and drawing his other in tightly. He lands with his skate steady beneath him, and the rest of the routine becomes a haze of move-your-body, raise-your-arm, and try-not-to-burst-a-lung. The music crescendos to a halt and Yuri trembles with the effort of holding his pose for a couple moments longer. He drops his arms and braces them against his knees, wheezing like a smoker. No matter how many times he practices, how many runs Yakov makes him go on, the routine always seems to be just a little over his endurance limit. This wasn’t a perfect performance, but it was enough. Judging by the pleased look on Yakov’s face, it’s going to win him another gold for the season.

The biggest upset of the day had been Christophe. He’d gotten about halfway through his routine when he’d suffered a bad fall. He’d gotten up, but his leg had seemed ginger and he’d ended up turning the rest of his jumps into singles or doubles. Yuri had grimaced as he watched Christophe half skate-half limp off the ice. He and his coach had jabbered nervously in French, neglecting to even sit in the Kiss and Cry to receive scores. Viktor had run over to speak in distressed tones as well.

Christophe had returned to the stands afterwards, so it had obviously not been something that required hospital care at least. Yuri doesn’t care much for Christophe but it’s always painful to see any skater injured. Unfortunately, the fall had knocked Christophe far behind from his third-place finish in the short program.

Yuri watches as his score flashes across the screen. He’s won, keeping Viktor in second once again and leaving Thomas as the shoe-in bronze medalist. Next thing he knows he’s being successively wrapped in hugs by Yakov, Lilia (with her bony elbows), and Viktor. 

“Good job, Yurochka,” Viktor says, flipping the end of Yuri’s ponytail.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” Yuri growls, but there’s not much aggression behind it. He’s mostly just surprised how calm about this Viktor is. After all, this is the second time Yuri’s beaten him.

The medal ceremony flies by, all Yuri remembers is being squished between Viktor and Thomas for pictures. Though Thomas, rather than holding Yuri by the shoulder, had wrapped his arm around Yuri’s waist, nearly as low as his hip. 

* * *

The banquet after Euro Championships isn’t as big or as formal as the one for the Grand Prix. Yuri is pleased though, because apparently, the Slovakian waiters don’t care too much whether Yuri is underage or not, and he’s already managed to snatch two flutes of champagne. 

As Yuri sips the last of his second glass, Thomas appears before him, dressed in a dark blue dress shirt and dark grey slacks. Yuri inclines his head in greeting.

“Enjoying the party?” Thomas asks.

Yuri nods. “It’s a bit noisy though.” He suddenly feels overwhelmed by the people around him in the slightly too-small banquet hall. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“Sure, let’s go,” Thomas says, popping up eagerly. He guides Yuri through the thicket of skaters, coaches, and sponsors with a hand at his lower back. Yuri’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel inclined to snap at Thomas for it. They make their way to the deserted portion of the lobby that’s populated by indoor plants. Yuri seats himself on one of the benches and Thomas settles next to him, extremely close once again.

“How do you feel after taking gold again?” Thomas asks, his torso turned so he can face Yuri.

“Good. Excited. Kind of buzzed.” Truth be told, Yuri doesn’t really feel like much of himself.

“That might just be champagne,” Thomas says with a hint of a laugh. His hand is on Yuri’s knee now, nothing scandalous, but enough to make Thomas’s intentions clear as crystal.

“It might be,” Yuri says, turning his own torso to face Thomas. There’s a moment, as Thomas leans forward, that a small part of Yuri’s mind seems to shrug away from leaning forward too. However, the other, louder voice that seems to stem mostly from his lower half is telling him  _ hell yes. _ So Yuri surges forward and closes the gap between their mouths.

The first kiss is nice, if unexceptional. It’s just an experimental, close-mouthed brush of lips. Yuri pulls back briefly, hoping to take a second to process, but Thomas’s hand cups his face and draws him in again. The second kiss is very different. Thomas’s mouth parts and Yuri instinctively does the same. Based on what he’s seen and read, this type of kissing is supposed to feel good, so maybe he’s doing it wrong. When he’s imagined it in the past, he never considered just how much spit could be involved. He half wants to pull away and wipe his mouth, but Thomas’s hand is still on his face and he’s still intrigued. Thomas tilts his head, presumably to deepen the kiss, and then there’s suddenly a tongue poking into Yuri’s mouth. He starts back a little at the intrusion. Thomas licks around inside his mouth and Yuri cracks an eye open. Isn’t this supposed to feel good too? To Yuri it mostly just feels wet and frankly,  _ disgusting _ . 

With a bit of maneuvering, Yuri manages to dislodge Thomas’s hand from his face and pulls away. Thomas is looking right in his eyes, which only serves to make Yuri more uncomfortable than he already is. He drops his chin, both so that Thomas can’t keep staring at him and so that it will be harder for him to initiate another kiss.

“Sorry. I haven’t done that before,” Yuri says, cheeks flushing red as he admits it.

“It’s okay, it was nice,” Thomas says, placing his recently dislodged hand back on Yuri’s shoulder. Thomas must have been experiencing a rather different kiss than Yuri had.

“My uh… my coach told me specifically not to wander too far tonight, so we should probably get back,” Yuri says after scrambling for the excuse. “I’d rather not get shouted at, you know.”

“Sure,” Thomas agrees, and he threads his hand through Yuri’s as they walk back across the lobby. Thomas’s palm is a bit sweaty, Yuri notices, and he shakes his hand loose before they walk back into the banquet hall. There are event photographers there after all, and he’d rather not see how the Yuri’s Angels’ would react to photos of him holding hands with someone. It’s as much for Thomas’s own protection as Yuri’s - teen fangirls can be insane. They’d flipped their collective shit after Otabek rescued Yuri in Barcelona. There had been crazy speculation, girls threatening to try to beat Otabek up, and an appalling amount of fanfiction, he remembers.

Thinking of Otabek makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, so he slips away from Thomas with a half-baked excuse about seeing his coach. A little flash of disappointment crosses Thomas’s face and Yuri feels a pang of guilt as he walks away. It hadn’t been a good kiss though, so he can’t bring himself to turn back either.

“Yakov, let’s get out of here,” Yuri says, tugging on his coach’s sleeve.

“Not yet, I think they still want Vitya for some photos or shit,” Yakov grumbles, sounding about as pleased to be there as Yuri feels.

“Viktor knows the way back to his own room, and he’s got katsudon to keep him company. I know you hate these fucking things too, so let’s go.”

Thankfully, Yakov turns and makes for the exit. Yuri catches sight of Thomas looking a little lonely near the door as they leave, and Yuri favors him with a helpless shrug. Maybe if Thomas thinks Yuri is being dragged away by his coach, he won’t try to bother Yuri too much.

Yakov turns the opposite direction when they step off the elevator, leaving Yuri alone with his thoughts in the carpet-muffled hallway.

He’s not quite sure, but he’s got a feeling that he’s betrayed someone. He doesn’t belong to anyone, and fuck anybody who tried to imply that, but his twisted-up gut still gives him the impression that all isn’t right. That boy, Thomas, isn’t who he wants to be kissing.

  
It’s there in a deserted hallway of a hotel in Slovakia that Yuri finally admits to himself - as much as it kills him to - that he might have a crush on his best and only friend.


	3. St. Petersburg - Four Continents Championships 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri tries to deal with his crush, and before he knows it, it's time for the Four Continents Championship!

As soon as Yuri admits his crush to himself, he’s instantly making rationalizations. Firstly, it’s probably just hormones. Secondly, he doesn’t know if Otabek has a boyfriend or a girlfriend or if he’s even into guys. Thirdly, Otabek is a good two and a half years older than him which might work out fine for couples like Katsuki and Viktor but not for fifteen year olds. And fourthly, most importantly, Otabek is the first real friend he’s had in God knows how long and Yuri does not intend to fuck it up with some hormone-fueled crush.

Crushes are stupid, silly things for overly romantic twelve year olds, and Yuri is positive that he’ll be over it soon enough. 

All the rationalizations in the world can’t really stop thoughts of Otabek from dancing through his brain as he lies in bed trying to sleep, but Yuri reassures himself again that he’ll get past it within a month or two.

They’re up early for their flight the next morning and thankfully Yuri doesn’t run into Thomas anywhere. He can’t help but feel a little guilty for the way he left Thomas hanging the night before, and that certainly won’t be helped by seeing the kicked-puppy-eyes in person. He just doesn’t have the heart for it right now when his own heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice.

Yuri does his best to focus his thoughts on excitement over another win, thinking about how proud Grandpa will be. Besides personal satisfaction, Grandpa is the other big drive towards success in Yuri’s life. Winning means so much for their family, both in concept and in tangible, financial ways. Grandpa had managed to fix his car on the Grand Prix winnings, so now this money could go into savings along with the smaller amount he’d gotten from Russian Nationals. Yuri has always hated watching Grandpa worry about money. After seeing the relief on Grandpa’s face when the first check came in, an eleven year old Yuri had promised himself that he would always do his best to make sure Grandpa didn’t have to worry about money so much anymore. Ever since he started pulling sponsorships, the cost of his skating has been reduced as well.

Yuri checks his phone when the plane touches down. There’s a message from Grandpa, telling Yuri that he’ll be waiting outside the airport, and then another from Otabek congratulating Yuri on his win. Yuri sucks in a breath at that one. It’s fine, he can reply normally. Nothing has changed as far as Otabek knows, and it’s going to stay that way.

**[to Otabek]:** thanks. i’ll be watching fcc when you cream jj.

That is a perfectly normal response, Yuri hopes. After all, Otabek watches his competitions so it’s only natural that Yuri would watch Otabek’s. That’s what friends do. Besides, it’s also normal for them to joke about JJ. They both hate him. Yuri wants to smack himself for overthinking this so much. This is exactly why crushes are stupid, because they ruin perfectly good friendships.

Luckily he’s got a few months between now and Worlds to get over all this nonsense. It would be painfully awkward to be around Otabek with - what had Mila called it? - a puppy crush. In training he resolves to focus harder than ever, if only to keep himself distracted. 

“Oi, Viktor, katsudon,” he calls one day during practice, “Help me with the quad flip.”

Katsuki looks up from his conversation with Viktor, round face written with surprise. Viktor just cocks his head and says, “Sure!” in the same tone he’d used to make Yuri and Katsuki compete in the Yu-topia competition. Yakov throws a suspicious glance in their direction but he’s too wrapped up with Mila and the other female figure skaters today to pay much attention to them. He’d said quite clearly to Yuri that he would be left to his own devices today. Yuri stands with his arms crossed in front of Viktor.

It turns out that Viktor is pretty terrible at actually teaching jumps to other people. His supposed “teaching” involves him doing the jump three times while Yuri watches and then expecting Yuri to simply replicate it. Yuri attempts it twice, landing on two feet both times.

“Try bending your leg more on the takeoff, like in a  _ plié _ ,” Katsuki offers helpfully. Of course, Yuri scowls at him, but he takes the advice. By the end of practice that day, Yuri hurts all over from falling on his ass so much, but he can do a shaky quad flip. 

“Yurio, does Lilia take on students in her ballet classes?”

“I dunno. Why?” Yuri asks, poking at a rather tender spot on his hip. 

“Well, I feel like my ballet skills have been getting rusty while I’ve been here in St. Petersburg and it’s not like I have Minako-sensei around. Would you mind asking her for me?”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself?”

“Well… uh… frankly she really intimidates me, but you seem to know her pretty well. I’d just really like to train under another skilled ballerina.”

Yuri sighs longsufferingly. “Fine, I’ll ask her for you, but only to pay you back for the help with the jump today.”

“Thank you,” Katsuki says, apparently still unable to stop himself from bowing slightly. It must be ingrained into his muscle memory by this point, Yuri figures. “Why don’t you come over to eat with us again tonight?”

“What, are you geezers so lonely that you need me to come over to eat your food?”

“Well, Makkachin’s missed you,” Katsuki says, and Yuri bites back a grin. 

“Yeah, fine. You’d better have good food though.” 

* * *

 

“Ah,  _ yabai _ !” Katsuki says, drawing his head out of the fridge. Yuri catalogues that one away, it’s always useful to know swears in as many languages as possible.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asks.

“I completely forgot to pick up butter at the store yesterday, and I can’t really cook much without it. Could you run down to the corner store and get some?”

“Only for you,  Золотце,” Viktor says as he shrugs his coat back on. He leans over so Katsuki can peck his lips and Yuri pointedly rolls his eyes at them.

“We can start getting everything else ready before he gets back,” Katsuki says, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. Yuri is saddled with chopping duty again and they work together in silence for about a minute before Katsuki takes a deep breath as if he’s about to give a speech.

“You’ve been working really hard at practice lately.”

Yuri glances up at him, trying to figure what exactly Katsuki is trying to get at. If there’s one thing he’s learned about the Japanese it’s that they’re never up front about what they really want to say.

“Yeah, and? Worlds are coming up and I’ve gotta be ready. I have to beat your boyfriend again.”

“Fiancé,” Katsuki corrects smoothly, “and I was wondering about that. Otabek Altin is going to be at Worlds, right?”

“Yeah, so what?” Yuri says, feeling his suspicions rise.

“Well, you’re friends. I figured you’d be excited about that.”

“Look, just spit out whatever you’re actually trying to ask,” Yuri says, patience wearing thin.

Katsuki just looks at him with a raised eyebrow for a long moment before saying, “You like Otabek.”

Yuri opens his mouth to protest but Katsuki just holds up a hand. “I could tell just from seeing you two at the Grand Prix. I’m not judging you or trying to tease you, I just figured you might want someone to talk to about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” Yuri snaps, his shoulders rising almost to his ears.

“I was just offering. I remember what it was like being that age and having crushes. It sucked and I had no one to talk to about it.”

Yuri battles with himself for a moment before conceding. “You’d better not mention this to anyone,  _ especially _ Mila or Viktor.” Katsuki nods as he continues with his food preparation and Yuri feels a little bit of comfort in knowing that Katsuki is too goody two shoes to break a promise.

“Anyway, there’s not much to talk about. We’re friends and I’m not going to let something stupid ruin that.”

“That’s what I figured. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea for the two of you to be in a relationship right now anyway. A lot of emotional development goes on between 15 and 18.” It makes Yuri grimace to hear it out loud, even though that’s one of his own arguments as to why the crush is shitty. “Not to say it won’t ever happen. After all, a lot of skaters end up dating and marrying other skaters.”

“Oh gross. If it’s going to make me act like you two, I’m not looking to get married any time soon.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you were,” Katsuki says with a little smile at Yuri. It is a little bit nice to not feel like he’s been made fun of for once. 

Viktor comes back in with the butter, and Yuri’s sharp look at Katsuki is apparently not necessary as he starts prattling to both of them about something to do with the dish. Yuri chops the last of the vegetables and dumps the lot into the pot that Katsuki offers him.

* * *

 

Katsuki doesn’t bring up their conversation again, which Yuri is thankful for, yet the feelings don’t show signs of going away either. Yuri still catches himself lunging for his phone with every notification sound and he can’t seem to chase Otabek out of his thoughts in downtime.

As Yuri struggles internally, the better part of a month seems to fly by in a blur. Before Yuri even realizes it, Four Continents is upon them and Viktor’s off to escort Katsuki. Yakov keeps practice light on the day of the men’s short program, and after wrapping up they all squeeze into the break room to watch on the TV there. 

Yuri, despite himself, is texting Otabek as he sits with the others. He had promised to watch after all. Otabek seems calm, though it’s hard to tell anything through just texts. Yuri showers Otabek with Snapchats of the TV and of Mila making goofy faces in her own Snapchats. She’s probably talking to Sara right now. After European Championships, Mila had paraded around the ice with her phone, proudly telling anyone who would listen that she had a  _ girlfriend _ . As if anyone there wouldn’t recognize the top women’s figure skater, but Mila had insisted on showing pictures to all of them. Mila’s been yelled at as frequently as Yuri for having her phone out at practice lately.

Yuri recognizes several names on the list from the Grand Prix series. He also recognizes one of the other Japanese skaters after Katsuki had been talking about possibly mentoring the kid. Minami Kenjirou is shown on the screen and Yuri remarks to Mila that his hair looks like ketchup and mustard. Yuri has his phone out and ready so he can get a picture when Otabek is caught on camera. “ _ it you _ ” he captions it.

As the competition begins, Yuri keeps only half an eye on most of the skaters. He figures that he would have heard the names if they were worthy competition. Sure enough, some of the skaters from the less skating-intensive countries like the Philippines and Mongolia only have triples in their programs. He can’t help but admire them for the resolve to go out and compete their hardest in such an uneven playing field. Yuri watches as the young skater from China performs a clean-looking program. He’s followed by Korea’s expressionless Lee Seung-Gil. He manages to pull a surprisingly excellent score, though it’s still nowhere near what Yuri knows that Katsuki and Otabek have been scoring lately. A few other familiar faces step onto the ice. Leo de la Iglesia steps out to skate in a vibrant yellow and white costume, and Katsuki’s Thai friend - Phichit Chulanont is his name, Yuri finally remembers - gets the whole crowd clapping along with his song. Yuri tunes out again as a more skaters he doesn’t know take the ice.

Yuri takes the Snapchat that’s practically customary between them now. Otabek is coming up with the next group of skaters. Yuri scoots to the front of his chair as the cameras focus in on Otabek walking out to the ice. He and his coach exchange a flurry of words and then Otabek steps onto the ice, managing to make even his slightly strange costume look dignified. His chin cuts a striking line as he stands stock still in the center of the ice.

Yuri isn’t a fan of classical music by any means - too many years of ballet and ice skating to the same damn songs really wears down on you after a while - but there’s a dark, electrifying sort energy to Otabek’s short program piece. He has great air position, Yuri thinks stupidly to himself as Otabek perfectly lands his first combination. He finds himself wishing, pointlessly, that the camera was closer so he could see what Otabek’s expression looks like. Not that there’s usually too much going on there, but if you look at his eyes…

He shakes himself as Otabek nails another jump. There might not be much dancer-like grace to the way Otabek skates - Lilia would rip him to shreds if she were given the chance - but something about the confidence with which he owns the ice keeps your eyes glued to him. He jumps like there’s no way that he won’t land perfectly. It’s over before Yuri knows it and sooner than he’d like. He fumbles out his phone again and takes a picture of Otabek sitting in the Kiss and Cry, captioning it, “ _ you fuckin nailed it! _ ” He has to physically stop himself from adding a heart after it. He’s not trying to flirt, goddammit. It’s completely normal for friends to congratulate each other on a job well done, if his brain would just stop being weird about it.

The camera is close enough that Yuri can catch the glint of satisfaction in Otabek’s eyes when his score launches him to the forefront of the competition.

“Your boyfriend did pretty well didn’t he,” Mila needles him. Yuri coolly ignores her, though his insides feel like they’re on fire. It’s almost enough to make him leave the room, but he knows he’ll just be yelled at if he doesn’t stay to watch Katsuki skate.

The broadcast switches over to interviews in the back room and they can catch glimpses of the skaters yet to go warming up. Over Lee Seung-Gil’s shoulder, Yuri spots Katsuki in his blue warmup jacket talking to someone who looks like… JJ?

As Katsuki walks away, JJ looks stricken. Yuri has no idea what  _ Katsuki, _ of all people, could have said to unnerve JJ that much, but the camera switches back to the rink before he can study JJ’s expression further. It’s apparently Katsuki’s turn already to take the ice, so Yuri settles in and cheers halfheartedly with the rest of his rinkmates. He’s not exactly sure why they feel the need to cheer. It’s not like Katsuki can hear them from fucking China.

Katsuki and Viktor stand on opposite sides of the barrier, Viktor leaning like he wants to jump over and skate the short program with Katsuki. Honestly, the two of them would have been better off joining pairs or ice dance. They’re speaking briefly, and then Katsuki cups Viktor’s face and kisses him right there, as if there aren’t twenty cameras trained on them. Yuri drops his head into his hand while Mila coos disgustingly at the display.

“That’s the kind of love I wish I had,” Georgi sighs from the other side of the room, like he’s some sort of twelve year old girl reading a romance novel.

“Would you all shut up? Katsudon’s about to start,” Yuri barks. It’s not like all of them haven’t seen Viktor and Katsuki kiss before, they constantly seem to be finding excuses to smooch each other at practice. At least Yakov is in Yuri’s camp on that front. Yuri’s seen Viktor yelled at more times than ever before now for getting distracted with Katsuki.

The Eros music strikes up and Katsuki begins. Yuri is once again lamenting the wide camera angle. He’s morbidly curious what Katsuki will do when he looks at Viktor this time. After all, he’s blown a kiss and licked his lips at this point. How much more blatant can he get? Pantomiming a blowjob or something?

He’s denied an answer, as the camera is too far. Yuri figures he probably knows this program about as well as Katsuki does by this point. He can name every element, every free arm, every flick of the wrist that goes into it. He even steps like a ballet dancer, Yuri thinks, and wonders if Katsuki ever regretted his decision to pursue skating over ballet. He has to admit that when Katsuki is on his game, he’s objectively enthralling. Even from the vantage of the far off camera, Yuri can see the way that Katsuki extends his energy through his fingertips, the way Lilia’s always nagging Yuri about.

Katsuki pushes up out of an Ina Bauer and turns tightly on his skate for the quad flip. Yuri bites his lip as Katsuki takes off and then lands it beautifully, as if he’s done it that perfectly every day of his life. Yuri releases his lip from his teeth, not entirely sure why he’d been nervous. After all, Katsuki’s been a lot better about landing it in practice at least. 

With a spin and a final spread eagle, Katsuki snaps into his ending pose. Yuri nods, satisfied, and turns back to his phone. He’s in no mood to watch more of Viktor and Katsuki’s embarrassing antics on international television. He has a Snapchat from Otabek. It’s a picture of Otabek cheek to cheek with a plush bear that was thrown on the ice for him, captioned, “ _ Found a friend _ ”.  Yuri is briefly tempted to respond,  _ “I thought I was your friend _ ” but thinks better of it. Instead he sends, “ _i_ __t’_ s got angry eyebrows like you _ ”. 

JJ is last up to perform, and Yuri tunes in for it - if only so he can whisper “fall, fall, fall,” under his breath every time JJ jumps. The camera pans, following him as he takes the ice, and Yuri thinks that he still looks a little off-kilter. The stupid,  _ egotistical _ , song JJ wrote for his short program starts up. His first quad toe loop combo goes by without a hitch and Yuri scowls. The crowd groans audibly though as JJ over rotates his triple axel, ending up ass-to-ice. Visibly shaken, he picks himself up and pushes forward with his program, but the rest of his jumps are lackluster at best. It’s not the usual JJ flair, with a multitude of hands down on the ice and flat out falls. The rest of the program looks fine, but JJ has always lacked the sort of artistry that skaters like Katsuki naturally portray. The kind of artistry that Lilia’s been working Yuri to the bone for.

JJ finishes his program and skates dejectedly out of the rink. Yuri feels the same mix of emotion he felt watching JJ flub his routine at the Grand Prix final - glad to face less competition and to see him thrown off his high horse, but a little sympathetic as well. Yuri knows how it feels to fuck up badly in competition, and he wouldn’t wish the feeling on most people.

The final order of scores flashes on the screen. Katsuki leads Otabek by a hair, and Yuri can’t help feeling a flush of pride for Otabek. He knows how hard Otabek has been working to push his programs to winning levels. JJ has taken fifth, behind Phichit Chulanont in fourth, and Lee Seung-Gil in third. Yuri pulls out his phone, still insatiably curious about that strange interaction between Katsuki and JJ.

**[Yuri]:** yo, wtf did you even say to jj?

He doesn’t expect Katsuki to text back as soon as he does.

**[from Katsudon]:** Ah, you saw that? He was upset so I was trying to comfort him. I guess I didn’t do a very good job. I don’t know if I’m supposed to share what happened or not.

**[Yuri]:** i’m not gonna blab. what happened?

**[from Katsudon]:** Apparently his fianceé was in a car accident back home, so he was really worried about her.

Yuri stares at the message, and instantly feels a huge stone of guilt drop into the pit of his stomach. He shouldn’t have gloated at JJ messing up his program. He remembers abruptly how color had drained from Grandpa’s face when they had first gotten news about his parents’ car accident.

**[Yuri]:** shit. is she okay?

**[from Katsudon]:** Phichit just asked and JJ said she’s okay. It still must have shaken him up though.

Yuri stands in a daze. The break room is full of his rinkmates, all chatting too loudly about the short programs. He steps into the dimly lit hallway to get away from it all for a second. He doesn’t know what to say to Katsuki, doesn’t even really know what to think. It’s been a while now since he last thought about his parents. His fingers automatically move to text Otabek, even though he knows that Otabek is busy with the competition.

**[Yuri]:** i’m honestly a shit person sometimes lol.

He can’t help but add an  _ “lol” _ at the end to soften the message. Otabek doesn’t need to deal with the full force of everything Yuri’s feeling. No one does. He stares off blankly, his phone lying on the ground next to him. He finds himself, uncomfortably, thinking of his parents’ funeral. The closed lids of the coffins had made it all seem fake to Yuri as a kid. Some part of him had still wished that this was all some sort of crazy prank, to make him more grateful for his family or something. It hadn’t been so, just a stupid twist of fate and of luck that Yuri hadn’t been in the car with them. 

His phone vibrates harshly against the tile, snapping him out of his thoughts. He snatches for it, both grateful and surprised that Otabek has had the time to respond.

**[from Otabek]:** Why do you think that Yura?

**[Yuri]:** i was being a brat and cheering against jj when his fiancee is hurt

He opens Instagram as he waits for a reply. He’d resolutely refused to follow JJ back, but he figures that it’s an extenuating circumstance, so he clicks on JJ’s profile name. His latest photo is just his hands in a heart shape, captioned  _ “gonna go out there and skate for you baby @bella_yang. feel better soon.” _ Damn if that doesn’t just make Yuri feel worse. He closes out the app in frustration as another notification from Otabek arrives.

**[from Otabek]:** Oh yeah, I heard about that. Don’t worry about the cheering thing, you didn’t know. Thanks for the support though.

It’s stupid how much that makes him feel better. 

**[Yuri]:** yea. still really sucks for him tho. anyway u did great

Another notification buzzes in immediately but it’s from Mila, asking where Yuri went. Yuri hasn’t even glanced at the time until now, but the coverage for the first day of skating is surely over by now. He collects himself as he dashes a reply to her, walking back toward the break room where he left his bag.

* * *

 

The standings after the first day of competition at FCC have the rest of the competition chalked up to a race for the third spot on the podium, and a question of whether Otabek will manage to pull ahead of Katsuki. Much as Yuri wants to believe wholeheartedly in Otabek’s ability, what he knows of Katsuki’s free skate contradicts that belief.

Yuri sits on Mila’s couch today after she invited the skaters to come watch at her flat. Mila has draped her legs over his lap like she owns property there, but they’re keeping him warm at the moment so he doesn’t throw her off. To Yuri’s absolute delight, Mila’s cat Alexei is rubbing against his hand and no one else’s. It’s his belief that being chosen by a cat is the highest compliment a human can receive. 

Currently, Mila, Georgi and a few of the other female skaters are engaged in a rousing game of Cards Against Humanity, in which the most recent round featured the sentence, “ _ I learned the hard way that you can’t cheer up a grieving friend with… giving the tumor a cutesy nickname. _ ” There’s more of a dark sense of humor in this group than Yuri first thought. The card players move to the next round and Yuri glances at the screen, helpfully labelled with typo-ridden Russian subtitles. 

As they switch to behind the scenes cameras, Yuri spots Katsuki seemingly joking around with Phichit Chulanont and Leo de la Iglesia. Viktor, standing behind them appears to be in deep conversation with Celestino Cialdini. The camera switches again and he spots JJ on the ice. He looks as drawn as he did yesterday, but today it seems to be more with resigned determination. Much as Yuri dislikes JJ, he grudgingly respects the fact that JJ is still there competing.

It’s still almost half an hour before the second group of skaters—the group with everyone they know—takes the ice. There’s a Filipino skater on the ice at the moment, he gears up and subsequently fails a quad toe loop, skidding across the ice.

Yuri glances back at the group playing cards. Mila’s just won the round with the combination: “ _ After blacking out during New Year’s Eve, I was awoken by… another shitty year. _ ” He’d be lying if he said that doesn’t make him crack a little smile. Alexei strolls by, and with a considering look at Yuri, hops up next to him on the couch. Yuri spreads his hand across the sweet spot at the back of the cat’s neck, scratching at the soft fur just behind the ears. Careful not to disturb the curled up cat, Yuri pulls out his phone and snaps a picture that he promptly sends to Otabek. 

**[from Otabek]:** Cute.

Yuri rolls his eyes slightly. Leave it to Otabek to be the only teenager he knows to actually text with proper capitalization and punctuation. Yuri has his autocorrect turned off, typos be damned.

**[Yuri]:** it chose me, i feel #blessed

**[from Otabek]:** Save your hashtags for instagram…

**[Yuri]:** you should know by now that i do it just to annoy you :P

It’s tougher than he expected to text Otabek. He rarely uses emojis or even smiley faces for fuck’s sake. Yuri wonders if Otabek just never realized that ending every sentence with a period in a text makes you sound mad.

“Hey, that American guy is on now,” Georgi says. Yuri turns back to the TV to see Leo de la Iglesia standing in the rink wearing a deep blue costume. The others quickly abandon their game now that the second group of skaters has finally started. Yuri remembers from the parts of the Cup of China that he watched that Leo’s short program is stronger than his free skate.

“He’s got the technical skill but his movements are too choppy,” Yuri mentions.

“He’s definitely got the heart for it though,” Mila says. “He’s a real sweetie too.” Yuri just shrugs at that. He’s never met Leo and can’t say.

The Chinese skater, Ji Guang Hong, is next. Yuri thought during the Cup of China, and still thinks now, that the free skate program seems ill-suited to him. The announcers explain that his music is from the theme of some gritty action film. Looking at soft brown eyes and freckles, Yuri isn’t much inclined to think “ _ assassin _ ”. 

JJ is the next to step onto the ice. Yuri bites his lip as the room goes quiet. Word gets around quickly within the skating community, and everyone knows by now what happened to JJ’s fiancée. The slow, driving sound of JJ’s free skate music begins and it feels like the whole world is watching. They had all seen how he had choked at the Grand Prix Final, how he choked yesterday. Yuri looks at his face and can see that JJ’s heart isn’t in it. He thinks back suddenly to the Rostelecom Cup and the way that Katsuki had dropped the ball on his free skate after Viktor left. 

Yuri watches JJ skate silently. It’s passable, though he falls once on a quad toe loop. Even though JJ is no friend to anyone in the room, they collectively let out a hiss as he topples to the ice. He’s surging back up within a second and begins plowing through the back half of his routine. His jumps are less powerful than usual, landing with his body low to the ice and even overbalancing and correcting with his hand on a triple axel. Yuri lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as the program comes to an end. It hadn’t been enough to make up for yesterday’s mistakes, but it hadn’t been bad either. Yuri estimates he’ll take fourth or fifth, an estimate confirmed as JJ’s score places him second in the running. There are still four skaters left.

**[Yuri]:** u better give katsuki hell from me

Otabek’s response comes in practically the moment Yuri lays his phone down on the couch next to him.

**[from Otabek]:** I’ll do my best, Yura.

The Instagram icon snags Yuri’s eye as he closes the messenger app. He realizes that he hasn’t uploaded anything in a few days, so he snags a quick shot of the rest of the skaters in the room. He captions it,  _ “cheering on @katsuki-y and @otabek-altin #killem _ ” even though he knows Otabek won’t bother checking it.

By the time he looks up from his phone, Phichit Chulanont is halfway through his program. Yuri hadn’t been able to see much of this routine during the Grand Prix Final when he had been busy warming up. He takes it as an opportunity to scope out future competition, even if it was competition that had ended up at the bottom of the Grand Prix lineup. Phichit has the crowd practically eating out of his hand. He’s obviously a natural entertainer, Yuri thinks as he watches Phichit’s infectious smile. His jumps, while lower in difficulty than most of the other competitors’, are cleanly executed. He ends with one knee on the ice, seeming to reach out as if to embrace the audience. If he had more jumping skill he could present serious competition.

Lee Seung-Gil skates as precisely as always, apparently over the mental block he had run into during the Rostelecom competition. Yuri doesn’t care much to watch. He isn’t very interested in the race for the last podium spot, and he’s always found Seung-Gil’s skating to be robotic and dull. 

Mila wiggles up into Yuri’s space as he attempts to take the usual selfie to send to Otabek. He shoots her a put-upon look, but lets her invade his selfie anyway. “ _ mila says good luck too _ ,” he types at her insistence. 

“Ooh, it’s going to Otabek, right?” Mila says with an eyebrow wiggle that shouldn’t be physically possible.

“No shit. Who else do I talk to who’s not in this room?”

“Yuuri and Viktor,” she shoots back.

“I’m not telling Katsuki good luck. I want Otabek to beat him, stupid.”

“Well, your precious Beka is going on now.”

“Don’t call him that, dumbass. Hey, all of you pipe down,” he snaps at the rest of the room.

The music begins and Otabek is off with his powerful, confident movements. Yuri is of the opinion that Otabek would probably beat even JJ in a jumping competition, if it were judged purely on an air height basis. He’s not even sure where it comes from. Otabek only has a few centimeters on Yuri, but there’s power packed in that frame and Otabek uses it to get as much height as possible out of his jumps. Even his normally neutral face seems set with determination as he skates.

Every jump is as clean as can be. Yuri watches with sharp eyes born of years on the ice, and as far as he can tell, the only places Otabek will lose points are on some of his style elements where his movements become choppier. Yuri has never seen Otabek skate like this before, and it has his heart pounding. 

The room collectively returns to chatter as Otabek exits the rink. Yuri drums his fingers against his thigh as he waits on the scores. The numbers flash along the bottom of the screen and Yuri pulls out his phone, too lazy to try and do the math in his head. Katsuki won’t have to pull out another world record to beat Otabek’s score, but that doesn’t guarantee he’ll be skating as well as he did at the Grand Prix Final either. 

The camera does a quick pan over the crowd, and Yuri spots Katsuki’s sister and ballet teacher in the stands, holding up a blue sign with Japanese on it. A little snarl of jealousy catches in his stomach, that Katsuki always has someone he loves out there watching him. Grandpa can’t make it to most of Yuri’s biggest competitions with his job. He knows that Grandpa is proud of him, but there’s nothing quite like the comfort of knowing there’s someone in the stands who’s completely on your side. 

Katsuki and Viktor share a quick few words and appear to limit themselves to a hug today. The sparkles on Katsuki’s navy jacket catch the spotlights as he skates out to the center. Much as he might hate to admit it, Yuri does quite like Katsuki’s free skate music—though it’s been wearing on him to hear it over and over again at practice. He can probably narrate each element of Katsuki’s skating with his eyes closed. Mila had once dared him to try skating her short program and he’d done it, if only because he wasn’t willing to back down to any challenge from her. She’d deemed it “mostly acceptable” when he finished and he’d retorted by chucking a glove at her. 

Katsuki’s face looks tense but resolved. The program slides by without a hitch until Katsuki reaches the last thirty seconds of the routine. His skate catches on the ice in the middle of one of his step sequences. His face contorts as he rights his balance, and Yuri isn’t sure but he thinks that he sees Katsuki nod to himself. Yuri holds his breath as Katsuki lines up for the quad flip… and lets it out in a huff when Katsuki only does a triple. 

“Did he mean to do that?” Mila asks.

“I can’t tell,” Georgi says, squinting at the television as if it will give him answers.

“He meant to do it,” Yuri says. “You can tell by the way he landed.”

“But why would he do a triple if he knows he can do the quad?” Georgi asks, brow wrinkling.

“Fuck if I know,” Yuri says, watching for the scores. “Ask him when he gets back.” Yuri knows exactly why Katsuki did it. The idiot had doubted himself, and Viktor had probably slacked off on putting pressure on him. Shouldn’t Viktor know by now that Katsuki only performs well when he thinks it’s direly important?

Yuri’s calculator app is already open when Katsuki’s scores are shown. He has the total score ready before it’s shown on screen, but he looks back at the screen to make sure he hadn’t typed something in wrong. Katsuki and Otabek have tied for gold.

A notification pops up on the top of Yuri’s phone.

_ @otabek-altin has liked your photo _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say thank you so much to all of the people who have commented. Every single one of your comments makes me do a little happy dance, and it's definitely great motivation to keep writing.


	4. Helsinki - ISU World Championships 2017 (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri deals with an ill-timed growth spurt and heads to Worlds to see some familiar faces.

Yuri extends his arms towards the tips of his toes. He can only reach the middle of his foot before his hamstrings and back are screaming with pain. He sits up and fumes, filled with a strong urge to kick something. He’s had days with tight muscles before, but this is something different. It’s been sneaking up on him, and he has to confirm it.

“Hey, Yakov I need to be measured today,” he says with a scowl. 

“Didn’t we just measure you last month?” Yakov asks, not even turning away from the rink.

“I need to do it again.”

“Make Vitya help you,” Yakov sighs, obviously as unimpressed as usual by Yuri’s attitude. Then again, Yuri never does anything to adjust it, so that’s not entirely surprising. Viktor and Katsuki are on their lunch break, so Yuri slips out to find them. 

“Do you want to eat lunch with us, Yurio?” Katsuki asks pleasantly when he spots Yuri.

“No, I already ate. Viktor, I need your help measuring me.”

“Right now?” Viktor whined, looking from Katsuki to Yuri. 

“Yes, right now. You’re finished aren’t you?”

“But I was talking with Yuuri…”

“You live together, old man. I’d think you would be sick of him by now. Let’s go.”

“Go on,” Katsuki laughs, prodding Viktor to get up. “I’m almost finished too and we should get back to practice soon anyway.”

Viktor reluctantly follows Yuri to the door frame in the locker room where they’ve been tracking his height. Viktor grabs a binder from Yakov’s desk inside his office, and motions for Yuri to stand straight against the frame. Yuri turns after Viktor’s made the pencil mark to look at the result.

“God fucking dammit,” he curses.

“What’s the problem?” Viktor asks, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

“This,” Yuri says, pointing out the small gap between two of the lines, “is how much I grew from Christmas to European Championships. But this,” he says, poking violently at the newest line, “is how much I’ve grown since last fucking month.”

“So, you’re growing…”

“What are you, stupid? I grew almost three centimeters this month alone and there’s still a few weeks until Worlds. I can’t stretch as far now, and I’m positive that’s why I’ve been falling on my ass so much during practice.”

“Ah, sorry Yurio. Puberty’s tough.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Yuri snarls. Viktor just rolls his eyes long-sufferingly and leaves the locker room.

Yuri feels oddly self-conscious as he steps back onto the ice. After his realization, he’s hyperaware of his own body in a way he usually isn’t. Yakov has them doing simple forms for the afternoon, but Yuri can’t help but feel like a tangled mess of too-long limbs. It’s awkward and he hates it. 

Practice goes badly. Lilia is standing at the edge of the rink, shouting corrections about things that are usually second nature to him. It’s as if he’s been transported back to beginner classes when the only things they worked on were turn-out and proper posture. He knows that everyone’s eyes are on him and it’s humiliating. 

* * *

When they’re finally let go for the evening, Yuri brushes past Katsuki as he tries to ask something. He knows he’s being rude, but his frustration is seeping out of the cracks and making him want to lash out at everyone else. He needs to go home before he starts getting nasty.

**[Yuri]:** can we skype?

He’s only been on the bus for a few minutes before he gets a reply back.

**[from Otabek]:** Sure, what time?

Yuri dashes a reply back and then allows himself the rest of the bus ride to sulk. He’s not sure what he’s sulking about, exactly, but it feels better to just be pissy and frustrated in the way he wants to be. He’s got talking with Otabek to look forward to, but frankly with all of his confused feelings about his friend, he’s not sure how much of a relief it will be. He’s been even more paranoid about his word choice the last few times he’s spoken face to face with Otabek. It feels like everything he says has been coming across the wrong way, and that Otabek is only still talking to him out of some sort of misguided pity. 

He could have gotten a normal crush, on someone his own age, someone more available. He could have had a crush on Thomas. Then he could tell Otabek all about it, and get his advice too. The way he is, he’s stuck. Even though there are more people in his life than ever before, he somehow feels even more alone.

Yuri steps off the bus into the bitterly cold wind, flipping up his jacket collar as he prepares to brave the ten minute walk home from the stop. 

He greets Grandpa as he steps into the house and makes his way into the kitchen. Grandpa has left him a plate of  _ pelmeni _ and potatoes and he reheats it while he texts Otabek that he’s ready to Skype. His ears flush red as blood comes rushing back to them and he waits for his food. 

“Hey,” Otabek greets him when Yuri picks up the incoming call.

“Hey,” Yuri replies, concentrating more on not dropping his plate as he carries it to the table. 

“So, what’s the matter?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the matter’?” Yuri retorts between mouthfuls. Grandpa’s cooking is one of his few joys in life lately.

“You never ask to Skype unless something’s wrong. So, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing… it’s just stupid stuff,” Yuri says, suddenly ashamed to whine and complain to Otabek.

“I doubt that. Tell me about it,” Otabek says, and Yuri can’t say no to his intense gaze.

“I’m just hitting a growth spurt, that’s all. It sucks because it’s messing up my skating right before Worlds.”

“Growth spurt, huh? Damn, guess that means you’ll be taller than me soon,” Otabek says with a teasing gleam to his eye. Yuri laughs a bit despite himself.

“What, are you jealous? At this rate you’ll end up the shortest skater in the senior division.”

“Don’t rub it in. At least Guang-Hong still hasn’t caught up to me. Anyway, aside from annoying growth spurts, how are you?”

“I’m… alright,” Yuri replies, catching himself before he can brush it off with an “ _ I’m fine. _ ” Otabek remains silent. “I’ve just been stressed out lately. We’re all getting geared up for Worlds, and I have to compete against Viktor, and Katsuki, and… well you, since you’re doing so well. Then I’ve got all sorts of school crap and on top of that there’s the whole stupid feelings business…”

“What sort of feelings?” Otabek asks and Yuri’s face goes beet red.

“It’s… nothing. Forget I even mentioned it.”

“You can talk to me about it. I promise not to make fun of you or anything.”

Yuri busies himself with what’s left on his plate, avoiding Otabek’s gaze. “It’s just a stupid crush,” he mumbles. Otabek stays silent for a long span of seconds and Yuri’s heart hammers in his chest. He’s sure that Otabek will finally put the pieces together, realize why Yuri’s been acting strangely lately, and the thought makes him want to curl up in a dark hole and never face the world again. 

“Well, try not to stress about it. If it works out, it’ll work out, if it doesn’t then it wasn’t meant to be anyway.” Yuri struggles to keep his breathing normal.

“Yeah, I’m just overreacting.”

“Nah, it’s normal when you get a crush. You’re homeschooled though, right?”

Yuri seizes eagerly on the topic change and he and Otabek fall into an easier conversation about high school and the annoyance of trying to balance it with a skating career. Despite the desperately close call, they talk for a while more until Yuri glances at the time.

“Shit, I’m keeping you up too late. You should get to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me. But I will be going to bed soon, so I guess I’ll say goodnight.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.”

“‘Night, Yura. Sleep well.”

The nickname bounces around Yuri’s head for a good minute after he hangs up. Every time he hears it, it feels like a victory and also another glass shard being shoved into his heart. And Christ, he even sounds like some sort of romance novel protagonist thinking about it that way. Like he’s said before, it’s stupid and he needs to suck it up and move on.

* * *

In terms of getting over a crush, Yuri thinks, maybe an ill-timed growth spurt was just what he’d been needing. The next few weeks of practice are hell, providing Yuri with much less time to wallow in his feelings. That can’t stop thoughts from intruding at random, but it’s a step at least. 

However, ill-timed growth spurts are exactly the wrong thing for securing a place on the podium at Worlds. 

“Again!” Yakov calls across the rink, “Start from the  _ arabesque _ and go to just before the quad loop.”

“Yuri Plisetsky, you are letting your weight shift over your hips in your arabesque. Don’t let your torso fall forward,” Lilia adds. The pair of them make a terrifying sight. Yuri can’t even imagine what it must have been like when they were married.

He takes up his position once more and tunes out everything except for the rasp of his skates and what he can feel in his muscles. This damn routine is engraved into them, so why can’t he do it right? He skates forward to gain enough momentum and begins to raise his leg into the arabesque. He can already feel his torso threatening to lean, so he tightens his core. With that, his leg comes to a stop just over level with his hip, rather than at almost 45 degrees as usual. A frustrated growl bubbles out of his chest, but he cuts his losses and moves on. Lilia pulls him aside after Yakov makes him run the section several more times.

“Have you been slacking off on your ballet training?” she asks fiercely.

“No,” he snaps, “I’ve been trying to work harder. Worlds are coming up, I’m not stupid enough to think that I can slack off.”

“Then what is the meaning of all of this? This sort of performance isn’t like you.”

All of Yuri’s frustration from the day boils over. “Well it’s not my damn fault that I can’t just tell my body to save the growing for a more convenient time!”

He’s never dared to shout at her like that before, it just slipped out. For a wild moment, he wonders if she’s going to slap him. Instead, she nods and walks briskly over to Yakov. They lean their heads together and an expression of understanding crosses Yakov’s face. He beckons Yuri over.

“You’re going to spend the rest of practice with Lilia today, she’ll work on your flexibility training. You need to tell us when something’s the matter, boy. We can’t train you properly if you don’t tell us that something’s wrong with your body. What if you’d gotten injured, huh? That would have been my ass on the line. Have more sense,” Yakov says with a light cuff to the back of Yuri’s head. He glowers but doesn’t retort because he hates it more than anything when Yakov is right.

Lilia leads him off to the ballet studio with hardly a word. The only other person in the room when they get there is Katsuki. All of the other skaters take their lessons in the mornings or evenings.

“Oh, sorry! Did you need to use this room?” he asks.

“No, no, don’t mind us,” Lilia says, her voice softer than usual. Like everyone else in Yuri’s life, she’d apparently taken a goddamn shine to Katsuki the moment she met him. Lilia Baranovskaya of all people. “That  _ frappé _ looked excellent.”

“Thank you,  _ Madame _ ,” Katsuki replies politely before turning back to the bar. Yuri scowls behind his back. 

Katsuki stays the entire time Lilia runs Yuri through his stretches, calmly running through his ballet exercises with no apparent guidance. Yuri wonders again why Katsuki hadn’t pursued dance instead, that is until Lilia starts pushing his chest towards the floor.

“Ow, Jesus,” he screeches as the muscles of his inner thighs tug painfully. 

“Breathe in slowly, then exhale and focus on breathing out the tension from your muscles,” Lilia instructs him as if his outburst had been nonexistent. Yuri scowls but does as she says. It helps.

“Now, do it again but this time with your toes  _ properly _ pointed.”

“Why? It’s not like we can point our toes in skates.”

“That is a fact that I lament every single day as I watch you,” Lilia responds tartly. Yuri points his toes and grits his teeth against the tightening of the tendons on his shins. Once they’ve  _ finally _ finished, Lilia surveys the wobbly mass of over-stretched limbs that used to be Yuri.  

“We will be focusing primarily on returning you to acceptable states of flexibility and proper posture until World Championships, and Yakov has decided that you will be exclusively reintroducing yourself to your jumps.” Yuri promptly rolls over onto his face without a response to that. Maybe he can invent some sort of growth acceleration machine to have all of this over with in one night. Then again, Yuri abhors both science and math.

Lilia walks away and murmurs something to Katsuki, presumably another uncharacteristically nice compliment. 

“Growth spurt finally happening?” Katsuki asks as he wanders over to Yuri’s side. Yuri grunts an affirmative.

“Sucks,” Katsuki says, extending a hand down to Yuri’s prone form. With a monumental effort of will, Yuri manages to reach back and allow Katsuki to drag him back to his feet. “Got enough of that tea? Painkillers?”

“Yeah,” Yuri groans, too exhausted to come up with a snappy response. He’s not looking forward to the next few weeks.

“If you want you can eat with us again. I’m sure you’re starving.”

Yuri plops down on one of the benches outside of the studio. “Yeah, sure. Don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of charity case though.”

“Viktor should swing by in about twenty minutes.” A small silence falls between them and Yuri nurses at his water bottle like a drunkard nurses a beer bottle.

“How’s Otabek?” Katsuki finally asks. Yuri shoots him a skeptical side eye. 

“Just the thing I wanna talk about when my skating career is crashing down around my ears.”

“Your skating career isn’t crashing, and I was asking about him as your friend. But if you want to talk about that, I’ll listen.”

“And what’ll your advice be? To drunk dance on him half naked at a banquet?”

“The window for me listening to your problems is beginning to close,” Katsuki says with a challenging raise of his eyebrows. Yuri smirks. This katsudon’s really grown a pair lately.

“I almost fucking blurted it out to him the other night. I was venting and I let my stupid mouth run away from me. Now he knows I like someone, he just doesn’t know it’s him. But other than that, nothing’s changed. Except for me getting more pissed about the fact that I’m not over it yet.” Yuri draws his knees into his chest, feeling unnervingly vulnerable at how much he’s just confided in Katsuki. He looks away from Yuri with a thoughtful expression.

“You’re probably not going to like hearing this, but have you considered dating someone else? From what I remember, you were getting along pretty well with Chris’s rinkmate.”

“Thomas? He’s… I...  I dunno.”

“I’m not saying you have to date anyone. But maybe having someone else to focus on would help you get over your feelings for Otabek.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m only fifteen, so it’s not like it’s a big deal,” Yuri brushes it off, though it’s good advice.

“You’re nearly sixteen now. And when she was your age, Yuuko was already going steady with Takeshi. They dated almost the entire time we were in high school.”

“The guy she’s married to? Also, I can’t believe you actually just said ‘ _ going steady _ ’. What are you, from the 1950s?” Yuri snickers.

“Yes, the guy she’s married to. I’m not saying you have to worry about trying to find someone to marry, I’m just saying that you’re at a normal age to be interested in dating. It might be good for you to find someone who’s close to your age so you can get an experience of what it’s like.”

“Yeah. Well… thanks,” Yuri says, avoiding eye contact. Katsuki just returns that quiet smile of his, and lets Yuri hide himself behind his phone screen. He really doesn’t deserve all of the shit Yuri gives him.

* * *

It’s a short flight from St. Petersburg to Helsinki. Yuri feels like he’s barely closed his eyes to catch a quick nap before the flight attendant is tapping him on his shoulder and reminding him to lock his seat in upright position before landing. Their flight had been scheduled so they would land the day before competitions began. Yuri doesn’t know too much about Helsinki, but he’s hoping he can spend the afternoon catching up with Otabek.

His stomach jolts with nerves every time he thinks about it, but he’s mostly excited. It’s been months, and there’s something that’s just easier about talking in person as opposed to over Skype.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mila teases as Yuri pulls his hair back into a messy ponytail. 

“I’ll take that one as a compliment,” Yuri responds. His excitement at seeing Otabek again is enough to mostly negate his annoyance at her constant needling. 

It’s torturous waiting through all of the hassle of customs and the long car ride, but they finally arrive at a building that looks more like some sort of fancy museum than a hotel. The lobby is filled with angular furniture that Yuri can only describe as “Scandinavian-looking”. It’s attractive, but looks extraordinarily uncomfortable. Yuri hopes the furniture in their rooms isn’t similar. 

Before even bothering with his room, Yuri whips out his phone to find out where Otabek is. He walks blindly behind Yakov and Mila, not looking up until a hand taps his shoulder from behind. He turns on his heel, heart leaping at the thought that he’s run into Otabek by chance, and blinks in confusion when Otabek’s face isn’t the one he’s presented with.

“Hey,” Thomas Martin says with a shy smile.

Of course he should have realized he’d probably end up running into Thomas again, but he’d been so caught up with nerves about Otabek again that the thought had completely slipped his mind. He struggles to keep his face from falling as he gawks at Thomas. Like Yuri, he appears to have grown a bit, and filled out even more than Yuri has. Yuri’s beginning to strongly suspect he’ll always be a skinny little motherfucker, even if he grows taller.

“Hey,” Yuri replies, several moments too late.

“Oh, sorry, you’re on your way to your room. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to stop by since I didn’t really get a chance to say goodbye at European Nationals…”

“Yeah, I mean… my coach dragged me away and then we had an early flight,” Yuri says with a shrug. All of his guilt at brushing Thomas off is smacking him in the face. 

“We’ll, I’ll let you get settled in. See you around, maybe?” Thomas asks, and Yuri feels worse than ever.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” He scurries away to catch up to the rest of the Russian team. 

“Who was that? Another boyfriend of yours?” Mila asks slyly as they wait for the elevator.

“Like I’d tell you,” Yuri scoffs back. She just responds by poking him in the side the way she knows he hates.

“I’m going down to meet Sara after we dump our stuff in our rooms. Do you want to come with me?”

“Ugh, I forgot your precious girlfriend was gonna be here. I hope my room’s not next to yours, I don’t want to hear you two fucking all night. And anyway, I’m going to meet Otabek.”

“Tell him to come down too! He knows Sara, I think. Either way, it’ll be nice.”

“Alright, whatever. We’ll come meet you down in the lobby.” Yuri’s phone buzzes. It’s a message from Otabek with his room number. Yuri drops his bag unceremoniously on the bed nearer to the window. He’s rooming with Georgi for this competition, who won’t give a crap either way. He’ll probably be too busy out on dates with random girls he meets at bars anyway. Without a second thought he heads for Otabek’s room. His heart hammers as he knocks on the door.

Otabek greets him with a smile. His hair is floppy and obviously still damp from the shower, though he’s wearing a blue t-shirt to Yuri’s slight disappointment. Shut up brain, he thinks and then freezes. Are they supposed to hug now or not? Do dudes hug their friends after a long time apart? Does  _ Otabek _ hug his friends after a long time apart?

His rambling train of thought is cut off as Otabek answers his questions for him. It’s the first time they’ve hugged. Yuri’s just tall enough that he can hook his chin over Otabek’s shoulder. God dammit, this is nice and it’s doing nothing to help squash his stupid feelings.

“Come in,” Otabek says when Yuri releases, nervous to cling too long. 

“So, Mila said we should come downstairs and hang out with her and Sara,” Yuri says as he sits tentatively in one of the chairs.

“Sara Crispino?”

“Yeah, also known as the one person Mila won’t ever shut up about.  _ Oh, Sara did this, and Sara said the funniest thing to me the other day _ ,” Yuri imitates Mila’s voice, “It’s like being surrounded by bad rom-coms on all sides. On my left there’s Katsuki and Viktor bickering about some stupid couple thing or another, and then there’s Mila on my right always making kissy faces at her phone. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.”

“I’ll bet,” Otabek chuckles. Yuri smiles behind his back. “Well, let me grab my jacket and we can go down to meet them. Maybe they’ll be less couple-y if you and I are around.” Damn it, why is the way he says  _ you and I _ so attractive? Speaking of, why is his back so attractive? Yuri has to consciously pull his eyes away several times. “How’s the growth-spurt thing going, by the way?” Otabek adds.

“It’s been, well, about as shitty as you can imagine. Think of the most boring practice you’ve ever had, then repeat it over and over again, every day for almost three weeks straight. That’s what it’s been like.”

Otabek walks to the door and Yuri follows him out. “Yikes. That sounds terrible. What did they have you doing?”

“Flexibility training and jump work. All. Day. Long,” Yuri whines, giving Otabek his most put-upon expression. “They wouldn’t let me do any routines until two days ago.”

“Sucks, Yura. I remember I had to do all sorts of retraining with my jumps a couple summers ago.”

“It’s the worst. It was like, one day I could pull my leg up straight into splits behind me, the next I can barely get it to shoulder height.”

“I can only get mine up to parallel, so you’ve still got that over me,” Otabek says with a friendly shoulder bump. Yuri thinks he might combust, but he can’t because that means no more shoulder bumps with Otabek. 

“Hey, Yurio! Otabek!” Mila practically shouts from across the lobby, gaining her several judgemental looks from other hotel patrons. 

“She’s calling you ‘Yurio’ too now?” Otabek asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. They all do it now. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that I sometimes think I should murder Viktor and Katsuki in their sleep.”

“Hi guys. Otabek, I couldn’t remember if you’d met Sara or not, but yeah, she’s the top women’s skater and my girlfriend,” Mila gushes excitedly as Otabek and Yuri sit down.

“We never officially met, but I’ve seen your skating before. Nice to meet you,” Otabek says, extending a polite hand to her. 

“I’ve watched you too! You really do Kazakhstan proud,” Sara responds, shaking hands with him. “How are you Yuri? Or should I call you Yurio?”

“Yuri’s fine,” Yuri says, casting a dark glance in Mila’s direction. “I’m doing alright.”

“Well, we were thinking about going to grab dinner. Do you guys want to come?” Mila says, completely ignoring Yuri’s evil eye. 

“Sounds good,” Otabek says, looking to Yuri.

“Yeah, sure I’ll come,” Yuri says, still scowling slightly at Mila. He’s not going to pass up the chance at more time with Otabek, even if it includes hanging out with Mila and Sara.

* * *

“Do any of us even know a single word of Finnish?” Yuri asks as they stare at a restaurant front.

“I don’t think so, unless you do Otabek,” Sara says with a hopeful glance.

“Not at all. Russian, Kazakh, and English are all I’m good for.”

“Well, let’s go in anyway and hope that they all don’t mind speaking English too,” Mila says, dragging Sara through the doors by the hand. They settle into a cozy booth and do their best to decipher the menus they’re handed. Yuri takes his phone out and enlists Google Translate’s help, courtesy of the restaurant’s wifi. They all manage to order something or another and nurse their drinks during a brief silence.

“So, did the two of you have a nice little reunion?” Mila asks with a smirk in Yuri’s direction. Yuri nearly chokes on his drink and glares back as angrily as he can through coughing. Luckily, his almost-asphyxiation seems to have distracted Otabek from Mila’s question. 

“You alright?” Otabek asks, placing a hand on Yuri’s back.

“I’m fine,” Yuri says, trying to fight how red he feels his cheeks going. Before Mila can press further, he tosses a distraction into the mix. “So, how long before the rest of the men’s division shows up this time do you think?” That draws a genuine laugh out of Otabek, though his hand drops, disappointingly, off Yuri’s back. Mila and Sara are looking at them in confusion.

“In Barcelona, all of the men’s finalists ended up crashing on us having dinner. Well, JJ only showed up at the end to talk shit, but still, I have no fucking clue how they all ended up there at the same time,” Yuri explains. 

“At first it was just Katsuki’s sister and ballet teacher,” Otabek corrects. “But then they texted Viktor and Katsuki and the rest just snowballed from there.”

“You know, as annoying as that was, I still think I’d take it over my ‘fanclub’ showing up any day,” Yuri says, suppressing a shudder at the thought of his rabid teenage fangirls.

“Aw, poor Yurio. Too popular for his own good,” Mila teases. 

All things considered, it’s an enjoyable meal. The Finnish food is hearty and not terribly different from what Yuri’s used to, and the company is good. Otabek is as quiet as always, though he always manages to cut in with a barbed comment at just the right moment. Mila manages to keep her innuendos to a minimum, and Sara… well she’s actually fun to be around. She’s a good complement to Mila, sweet on the outside to cut Mila’s sassiness but with a fiery edge to her. She also doesn’t talk down to Yuri like he’s some kid, another big point in her favor in Yuri’s book. All in all, despite how annoying Mila can be about their relationship, Yuri approves.

“Hey, I was looking online before we came, and it sounds like there’s a really cool bar right around this area. I thought we could go there next,” Sara says as they wait on their checks, looking it up on her phone.

“What about Yuri?” Otabek asks, and Yuri’s heart floods with gratitude to him for asking.

“Oh… it looks like they won’t let any under-18s in.” Yuri looks at his lap, feeling swooping disappointment in his belly.

“Well, maybe we can find a pub instead, some sort of family place,” Otabek starts to offer, but Yuri cuts him off.

“It’s fine. I’ll just head back. There was someone else I wanted to talk to anyway,” Yuri says, forcing his voice to remain neutral. Otabek looks at him with concern but Yuri brushes it aside. “Just don’t drink too much. Don’t want you all to complain about hangovers tomorrow.” His voice sounds odd, horribly strained and almost fake. Something about his tone seems to put them off of asking anymore. The waiter returns with the checks.

“Text me when you get back to the hotel,” Otabek tells him as they stand outside the restaurant.

“It’s like four blocks away, but sure,” Yuri says, trying not to let hurt seep into his voice. It’s not Otabek’s fault that he’s still only sixteen. 

“Alright. I’ll see you later, Yura,” Otabek says, turning away to walk with Mila and Sara. Yuri finally lets his face fall with their backs turned. Mila practically hangs on Otabek’s shoulder, and Yuri  _ knows _ that it’s just how she is with everyone, but it still can’t stop the ugly, angry twist in his gut. The worst part is that he can’t even yell at her about it without inadvertently revealing his feelings.

Yuri’s thoughts swirl discontentedly as he walks back into the hotel lobby. He dutifully pulls out his phone to text Otabek but is interrupted once again by a tap on his shoulder. He turns around, knowing who to expect this time.

“Hi again,” Thomas says.

“Hey. Listen, I just had dinner but everyone else ditched me. Want to hang out?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Thomas’s face lights up and he nods eagerly. 

“You can come up to my room and we can watch a movie or something!” Yuri fights to not roll his eyes at the ill-disguised “Netflix and chill” suggestion. 

“Sure, let’s do that,” he says, and allows Thomas drag him off to the elevators.

They’re twenty or so minutes into the movie when Thomas draws closer, wrapping an arm around Yuri. Yuri considers it carefully and allows it to stay. At the forty minute mark, Thomas says, “Do you want to lean back or something? That looks uncomfortable.”

Yuri’s been sitting upright with his knees to his chest the whole time. Thomas isn’t wrong, it is uncomfortable. Yuri’s phone vibrates facedown on the covers.

“Yeah, sure,” Yuri says, leaving his phone as it is and settling himself back against Thomas’s chest. 

“I was a little worried when you ran off last time, you know,” Thomas admits as the action hero of the film they’re watching walks coolly away from a huge explosion.

“Yeah… sorry about that. You know how coaches can be sometimes. Wasn’t your fault,” Yuri lies.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now. I’d… uh… I’d like to kiss you again if that’s okay with you.”

Yuri’s mind races. The previous time hadn’t been enjoyable, but that was also because it hadn’t conformed to his expectations. He knows what to expect this time. “Alright,” he says, turning around and initiating. Maybe if he’s the one controlling the kiss, he’ll enjoy it more.

It is better. Marginally, at least. Yuri uses the element of surprise to keep the first few kisses close-mouthed. Then he ever so slightly parts his lips, hoping that Thomas will follow his lead. It’s still a bit sloppy, but manageable now that Yuri’s ready for it. He keeps his hands on Thomas’s shoulders, using it as leverage to break briefly apart when he needs it. Thomas catches Yuri’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Yuri’s surprised to find that he does enjoy that. He does it to Thomas in return, if only to get him to keep doing it. One of Thomas’s hands slides through Yuri’s hair, which is nice as well. 

They’re still kissing when Yuri shifts his weight and suddenly feels something pressing against his leg. Unless Thomas is in the habit of keeping full size candy bars in his pocket, there’s only one thing it can be. Yuri startles away, breaking their kiss. He had noticed a certain stirring himself, especially when Thomas’s hand had played with his hair, but to be unexpectedly confronted with the reality of it… well, he balks.

“I… oh, sorry,” Thomas mumbles, going bright red. He lifts his knees and shifts his hips marginally away from Yuri.

“No, don’t worry about it… it’s just a lot all at once,” Yuri says quickly. His hands ball up anxiously in the fabric of his pants. 

“We can just go back to watching the movie if you want.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Yuri says, not making eye contact. He’s not so unkind as to scoot away from Thomas though, and he doesn’t protest when Thomas tentatively puts his arm back around Yuri’s shoulders. They finish the movie mostly in silence, aside from an occasional burst of laughter at the terrible visual effects. Yuri glances at the clock on the bedside table as the credits roll.

“I’d better head back to my room. Early morning tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Thomas agrees. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah. You’d better bring your A game,” Yuri says with as much of a smile as he can give. Thomas leans over and gives one more, quick kiss before Yuri stands up to leave.

In the hallway, he finally glances at the notifications on his phone.

**[from Otabek]:** Did you get back to the hotel okay?

**[from Otabek]:** Are you alright?

**[from Mila]:** Why are you ignoring Otabek???

**[from Mila]:** stop being a fucking brat  


Yuri scowls at his phone. Of course they wouldn’t trust the  _ baby _ sixteen year old to walk a few blocks by himself. Georgi is, unsurprisingly, not in the room when he gets back. He leaves both Mila and Otabek on read and brushes his teeth a little more forcefully than necessary. He worries for a bit that all of his pent-up, angry energy will prevent him from falling asleep, but the hour’s time difference and exhaustion of traveling is catching up with him. He sets his phone aside without checking social media, not in the mood to see Mila posting bar pictures. Within a few minutes of lying down, he’s drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Yura...  
> Thanks again to everyone for your support on this story!


	5. Helsinki - ISU World Championships 2017 (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's competition time, and Yuri's... well, not at the top of his game. Feelings are confusing and he's forced to consider taking the advice of one Katsuki Yuuri.

Georgi wakes him the next morning with his godawful singing in the shower. Yuri rolls over and checks the time as he scrolls through a screen full of social media notifications. Georgi struts out of the bathroom a few minutes later, bundled up in a hotel robe and still humming to himself.

“Don’t quit your day job,” Yuri grumbles at him.

“You’d better start getting ready soon, or Yakov’s going to kick your ass,” Georgi says, pointedly ignoring Yuri’s jab. With an enormous groan for no one’s benefit, Yuri rolls out of bed and shuffles to his suitcase to grab his warmup clothes.

He and Georgi arrive approximately one minute early for their meeting time, and Yakov gives them a small evil eye. In his book, early is on time and on time is late. Katsuki is leaning sleepily into Viktor’s side while Mila stands next to her fellow female skaters with her arms crossed.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re alive and well,” she bites at him.

“I don’t need all of you treating me like I’m some kid who needs babysitting. I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home without needing to check in with you,” Yuri snaps back.

“We weren’t telling you to check in because we think you can’t handle yourself. Every time I have a friend over, I always tell them to text me when they get home. My friends are adults, but I do it because I _care_ about them getting home safely. Otabek was really worried when you didn’t respond last night. If you don’t want us treating you like a kid, then you should stop acting so _childish_!”

“I was busy and I forgot, okay.”

“Bullshit. You were bitter and you wanted to be petty. You were the one who said it was fine for us to go without you. You had no right to act like that. Next time, either be upfront with your feelings, or don’t let your bad attitude ruin everyone else’s night.”

“Whatever. I’m done arguing about this with you.” She’s right and he knows it. He knew last night that he’d been acting like a brat. He’ll make up with her eventually, but at the moment he’s too frustrated, and any apology he attempts will just come out as an attack. She lets him drift away, apparently satisfied that she’s gotten the message through.

“Bad night?” Katsuki asks as Yuri pulls level with him and Viktor.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, katsudon.” Viktor looks at him with a raised eyebrow but doesn’t comment. The Russian contingent walks in subdued silence, only Yakov and Lilia quietly conversing in low voices.

When they start warm ups at the rink, Yuri is certain that he’s feeling a little bit of every emotion except for _agape_. Mila glares at him and he lashes out with an angry jump. He spots Otabek entering the stadium on the other side of the rink and stumbles out of his _arabesque_. Otabek catches sight of him and beckons. Reluctantly, Yuri skates over to his side.

“Hey. I got worried last night. Was everything okay?” Somehow, the way Otabek says it, it’s not accusatory but full of concern. Yuri feels a weight of shame drop on his shoulders.

“I was okay. I was just talking with someone and I got caught up. I’m really sorry.”

“S’alright. I thought your phone was usually glued to your hand though. Anyway, I don’t want to distract you from your warm ups, so I’ll see you later,” Otabek says with an easy smile, and Yuri can feel the weight lifting. He raises a hand in farewell as Otabek disappears into the locker rooms.

Much as he might complain about it, the increased flexibility training has helped. He’s not quite back to his usual standards but Lilia and Yakov had watched him run through his routines and deemed it acceptable. Jumps are what he’s most worried about now. He’s been shaky at best during practice. Then again, he’s not so much like Katsuki that he’ll choke under pressure, but the worry still presses in on the edges of his mind.

With the thought weighing on him, Yuri runs through some basic jumps in the few minutes he has left to warm up. His loops feel steady today, and the toe loop is better than it has been for the past few weeks. He saves the triple axel for last, but feels something not right the second he leaps from the ice. His body position is all wrong. He falls back to the ice with the jump under-rotated and quickly over-balances. His knee slams hard into the ice but he manages to catch the rest on his hands.

He hears shouts of, “Yurio!” from all around him and he scrambles back to his feet. Half of his rinkmates are swarming around him and he waves them off.

“I’m fine,” he snaps, though he feels a dull ache in the knee he landed on.

“Yuri Plisetsky, you get off that ice right now,” Yakov shouts from the other side of the rink. Yuri decides it’s pointless to argue with only two more minutes of warmup time left.

“Sit down, boy,” Yakov says, shifting into coach examination mode. “You can put weight on it so that’s a good sign. No fracturing and probably not a sprain since you didn’t twist it. Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing down on Yuri’s knee. Yuri sucks in a small hiss.

“Bit,” he grunts.

“Alright, we’ll decide if you go out for public warmups later. For now you stay down and we’ll get some ice for your knee to keep the swelling down. Even if you do go out later for warmups, I’m forbidding you from jumps.”

“Fine,” Yuri says with a scowl. One stupid fall and he has to spend the whole first part of the competition sitting on his ass in the locker room. With no small amount of internal and external grumbling, he stakes out a spot to camp until further notice while Yakov procures a bag of ice.

“Your knee okay Yurio?” Viktor asks as he plunks his bag on the ground next to Yuri’s.

“It’s fine. You’re not sitting here, are you?”

“Why not? I don’t see a sign here that says I’m not allowed to.”

“You’re not allowed to.”

“Rude.”

Yuri glares with his arms crossed. “You’re not allowed to because if you sit here, that means the katsudon will come sit here too and I do _not_ want you two being all mushy in my face when I’m not allowed to leave.”

“We won’t! I promise!”

“Yeah, cause you’re _so_ good about keeping your promises.”

“How about if I promise I won’t let him get up to any nonsense?” Katsuki says as he walks up, catching the last bit of conversation. He’s made good progress on his Russian and most conversations at the rink are back in the native language.

“I might believe it if you said it. But how are you gonna control this one?” Yuri asks, jabbing a thumb in Viktor’s direction.

“Trust me, I have my ways.”

“Gross. I don’t wanna hear about it. You can sit, just don’t start arguing or something for fucks sake.”

If he’s being honest, Yuri can’t understand half of what they say to each other. Viktor and Katsuki have taken to speaking in a strange, blended language consisting of English, Russian, Japanese, and possibly Pig Latin for all Yuri knows. He tends to block them out.

Time passes slowly for him with nothing to do. He scrolls through his social media feeds, refreshing until he doesn’t get any new posts. The ice Yakov gave him has his knee numb within a few minutes, but he’s been ordered not to remove it until at least fifteen have passed. Eventually Viktor and Katsuki wander away, presumably to go chat with their other skater friends. It’s not like Yuri’s good company right now, nose buried in his phone.

“Hey, Yuri… oh, what happened?” Yuri looks up to find Thomas’s face, drawn with concern.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Took a spill during warmups and my coach overreacted.”

“Ah, that’s awful. Will you be okay for competition today?” Thomas asks, making a jerky movement as if to pat Yuri’s shoulder but then thinking better of it.

“It’ll be okay. It’s honestly probably just a bruise and I’m probably more in danger of my knee falling off from hypothermia than any injury from falling.” As if on cue, the alarm on Yuri’s phone rings and he gratefully lifts the bag of ice off his knee. “Like I thought, no swelling.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Thomas asks, hands clasped hopefully.

“Go ahead,” Yuri says, still massaging warmth back into the chilled skin around his kneecap.

“I had a lot of fun last night, you know.”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Yuri says. Thomas is going somewhere with this and Yuri’s just waiting to see where.

“I… I like spending time with you. I think you’re really awesome, and I’d really like to keep doing it. Like… y’know, maybe dating.” Thomas is blushing furiously and won’t look Yuri in the eye.

Yuri’s thoughts race at the speed of sound, considering the offer. Thomas is undisputably nice, a good match for Yuri in age, a relatively skilled figure skater. All of those qualities make him objectively a good match. He thinks back to Katsuki’s advice. If he wants to get over Otabek, he needs something to take his mind off of it. If skating alone isn’t going to cut it…

“Okay, sure,” Yuri says.

“Really?” Thomas asks, face practically shining with unbridled enthusiasm. Yuri can’t say no to an expression like that, and really, how bad can it be? To have someone who cares about you and who shares your interests can hardly be seen as a bad thing.

“Yeah. We can get dinner tonight if you want.”

“I’d really like that.” With an awkward little shuffle, Thomas places his hand over Yuri’s on the bench. Yuri humors him and flips his palm so Thomas can hold it.

Of course it’s that moment when Otabek and Mila have to walk in. Both of their eyes immediately flick down to Yuri’s hand clasped in Thomas’s. Mila does a visible double take.

“Hey Yurio. I thought you might be bored, but I guess you managed to find some company,” Mila says with a smirk.Yuri half wants to kill her, half wants to implode from the awkwardness of it all.

“Sorry you fell, Yura. I’ll swing by later, yeah?” Otabek says before he’s turning quickly on his heel to leave. Yuri’s mouth falls open to protest, but he thinks better of it and snaps his jaw shut. For the second time in the past day, he watches Otabek and Mila’s retreating backs.

“Did he call you ‘Yura’?” Thomas asks.

“Yeah. It’s a Russian nickname.”

“Isn’t Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan though?”

“Russian is one of their official languages,” Yuri says a bit petulantly. Thomas probably wouldn’t have ever learned that, he supposes.

“So do you like being called ‘Yura’ better?” The name off Thomas’s tongue seems wrong. The ‘u’ is too short and his voice lilts too high at the end.

“No, Yuri is fine.”

“Oh, okay.” Thomas looks put out and goes quiet for a few moments. Then, because apparently silences are too uncomfortable for him, he asks, “What group will you be skating in? And will your leg be okay for you to skate on?”

Yuri makes himself as comfortable on the bench as possible. Thomas hasn’t relinquished his hand yet, so Yuri assumes it will be trapped there for a while. The morning slowly ticks away toward competition time as Yuri listens to Thomas’s insistent chatter.

Otabek doesn’t come back.

* * *

Yuri sits alone in a corner of the locker room, slowly unlacing his skates. The feathery shoulder accents of his costume keep sticking to his face and getting tangled with his hair. All he wants is to have the whole mess off his body and preferably to flop face down onto his bed.

Katsuki, Viktor, and Otabek had all beaten him in the short program. Yuri had known something felt off the moment he stepped onto the ice, and it wasn’t even the bruised knee. He hadn’t felt any of the usual rush of excitement or nerves. He had stood in the center of the ice feeling blank and completely not _agape_. Katsuki had gone two slots before him with an _Eros_ routine rivaling the perfection of what he’d seen at the Rostelecom Cup, and Viktor had looked in as good of form as he had before his break.

Yuri hates to admit it, but part of what threw him off his game was the quick glance around the edge of the ice before he’d begun skating. No one was there besides Yakov and Lilia. Katsuki and Viktor had disappeared into the green room for interviews, Thomas was still in the locker room being lectured by his coach, and Otabek was nowhere to be seen. The yells of the crowd had blended together and muddled up his concentration from the start.

Tossing his skates aside, Yuri is tempted to rip the stupid _Agape_ costume from his skin. His fingers are already curled in the neck of the garment before he remembers that it doesn’t belong to him. As much as he might wish to destroy the reminder of a failure, it’s still Viktor’s. Instead, he carefully unzips it, hanging it back up in its garment bag before viciously kicking his skating bag. His toe knocks against his water bottle inside the bag, which smarts, but it’s vindictively and childishly satisfying to see the whole thing go sliding into the wall with a thunk. Then he realizes just how he looks; standing in only his fucking dance belt, glaring at his skating bag like it’s personally wronged him.

The atmosphere in the Kiss and Cry had been tense to say the least. Yakov and Lilia sat flanking him on the bench as always, but the pat across the shoulders from Yakov had been perfunctory rather than congratulatory. Yuri had watched stoically with them as they flashed his scores across the screen. It might not have been by much, but a season low at Worlds still stung.

He changes glumly into his practice clothes and leaves the deserted locker room. Thomas catches him as he’s walking to the elevators in the hotel lobby.

“Hey,” he says, as always, face shining with enthusiasm that Yuri doesn’t share. Thomas had placed just within the qualifiers to continue on with the free skate the next day, but seemed mostly just happy to be competing at Worlds at all. Almost everyone in the skating community had been expecting Christophe in his place until the injury.

“Hey. Do you mind if we get takeout or something for dinner? I’m kind of exhausted,” Yuri says, failing to add that he’d rather not see any other skaters’ faces tonight, especially a certain Kazakh skater.

“Oh! Yeah of course. What are you in the mood for?”

They order Indian food from one of the few places nearby that delivers and settle down with another movie that Yuri’s only vaguely interested in. He’s quiet as they sit together, but Thomas makes up for it with a torrent of conversation, beginning with a play-by-play of the short program. Yuri listens absently as he gnaws at a piece of naan.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asks when he finally pauses to draw breath. Yuri, who had been looking blankly into the middle distance, startles back to focus on Thomas’s face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yuri says, shaking the daze off. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s okay. I was just spacing out.” It’s not strictly true. He would like to talk about it, but it feels a little tactless to try and explain to Thomas why placing within reaching distance of the podium feels so much like failure to him. He settles back against the pillows stacked against the headboard as Thomas resumes his chatter. Yuri struggles to remain attentive as Thomas starts another long, roundabout tale of something one of his rinkmates did during training.

“D’you wanna make out?” Yuri finds himself blurting in the middle of one of Thomas’s sentences. It’s a bit blunt, but he’s in the mood for something more distracting than listening to a story he’s not interested in, or trying to watch the movie.

“Oh… okay,” Thomas stutters, surprised and eager. Yuri is scooting across the bed by the time the words leave Thomas’s mouth.

The distraction is good for the moment. For a few minutes he stops worrying about the competition tomorrow, replaced by simpler worries about whether he’s moving his lips in the right way, or whether he’s sitting the wrong way against Thomas. For all of its awkwardness, it’s easier than dealing with anything else. Soon though, he catches sight of the clock and knows that he’ll be bound to perform poorly tomorrow if he doesn’t get a decent night’s sleep.

Yuri bids Thomas goodnight, feeling a little guilty for constantly leaving him blue-balled again. Not guilty enough to stay though. After all, they’re both here for the competition first and foremost. The walk to his own room is more than enough to bring all of his anxieties and frustrations rushing back to his mind. Georgi is already asleep when Yuri unlocks the door, and he quietly gets ready for bed with a foreboding feeling of what might come tomorrow.

* * *

Yuri is certain that everyone on the Russian team breathes out a sigh of relief when he manages to squeak into third place. Everything about this competition has felt off-kilter to Yuri, and he’s glad to have it over with. Of course, the relief of being finished isn’t quite enough to mask the ache of his disappointing performances. Part of the blame goes to the changes in his body. Even in practice, he’d been shaky with basic skills at times. But he knows that all of his stress over Otabek has finally leaked onto the ice.

Otabek had shown up for Yuri’s free skate to cheer him on, and somehow that had been worse than him not being there. It felt like Otabek’s eyes had been burning him as he skated, and the distraction had thrown him even more off balance.

Hefting his skating bag over his shoulder, he finally braves entering the green room. Viktor and Katsuki are in one corner, surrounded by a pack of determined looking sports reporters, all gabbling in a dissonant mix of languages. There are a few other scattered reporters interviewing some of the other, lower-scoring skaters. Most likely for fluff pieces. A few of the unattached reporters and some of the group huddled around the other medalists spot Yuri and converge around him.

“Mr. Plisetsky! Would you answer some questions for us?” Before Yuri has the chance to even answer, a microphone is being thrust in his face. “How does it feel taking your first senior World Championships medal?”

The question stings. Yuri supposes it’s some sort of karma for overconfidence. After all, it’s not unusual for the Grand Prix Final gold medalist to fall a place or two, even to not medal at Worlds. Yet he’d stupidly waltzed his way through the season expecting to sweep gold. Otabek had only trailed him by one and a half points. He’s goddamn lucky to have made the podium at all. He can’t tell the reporter any of this.

“It’s been an interesting first season in the senior division. I’ve always wanted to make a splash during my debut, and I’d like to think that I have.”

“I think we can all agree on that,” another reporter says kindly. “Tell me, what do your plans look like from here on out?”

“Nothing much is going to change for me. I’ll still be training hard, and I’ll be making a competitive run next season as well. Everyone else had better look out. I’ll definitely be coming for Katsuki’s free skate record next.”

“What are your thoughts on your rinkmates, Yuuri Katsuki and legend Viktor Nikiforov?” asks a reporter on his right.

Yuri rolls his eyes but answers, “They’re good competitors, even if they’re a lot to handle in person sometimes.”

“What do you have to say about rumors that you’ve already hit your peak?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to beat Yuuri Katsuki next season?”

“What is it like being under the tutelage of Viktor Nikiforov?”

Yuri raises his eyes to the ceiling as more questions he doesn’t want to answer are shouted at him. “That’s all the questions I’ll be answering today,” he says, shoving past a particularly enthusiastic cameraman waving his equipment in Yuri’s personal bubble. He spots Yakov a little ways over surrounded by a similar group of excited reporters, surely all questioning him about how he manages time and time again to produce his champions. Yuri snakes his way through the suits to grab Yakov’s arm.

“I needed to ask you something, _Coach_. Would you come with me,” Yuri says loudly over the racket of the reporters. Yakov nods gratefully as Yuri leads him away under false pretenses. It’ll be a while before Viktor and Katsuki will manage to slip away from their media circus, but Yuri and Yakov don’t have to suffer through with them.

“So, Mr. Feltsman,” Yuri imitates, “How _do_ you manage to find such banging ass skaters all the time?”

“I don’t see why they don’t just reprint my answers if they’re going to always ask me the same questions,” Yakov grumbles, cracking a little smile at Yuri’s impression. “Are you ready for off-season training, Yurochka?”

Yuri lets out a sigh. “Yeah. I know I have to work harder.”

“Believe me boy, you will be. Lilia and I have already started working something out. You’ll be mostly working with her. I have to worry about the other drama queens,” Yakov says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the green room.

“You should kick everyone else out and just take on me and Katsuki. Viktor’s too damn old, and Georgi is… well, Georgi.”

“Don’t look down on Georgi too much. We’ll need him for when Vitya finally does retire for good.”

Katsuki and Viktor finally walk into the locker rooms, trailed by a few of the other skaters Yuri knows.

“Good, you’re back. We’re going to head to the hotel. You all deserve a day’s rest,” Yakov says gruffly, standing up creakily.

“Oh, well Phichit’s invited us to go out to dinner, so we’re not heading back to the hotel just yet. You’re both welcome to come along though,” Katsuki says, throwing a quick affirmative glance at Phichit.

“Yup! The more the merrier,” Phichit sings back, looking so carefree you might have believed he’d won a gold medal as well. Yuri glances at Yakov, who looks like he’d rather spend a day locked in a room with Lilia than go to dinner with a bunch of rambunctious skaters.

“I could eat,” Yuri says with a noncommittal shrug.

“Great! Come with us while we see who else wants to go. Yakov, we’ll see you later,” Viktor says, sweeping Yuri along with their trio. He plods along gamely behind them, finally starting to feel some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. It’s his first season in the senior division. He’s been struggling because of his growth spurt, and once his height and weight settle, he’ll be back to his usual ability.

“Oh, hey Otabek! Come get dinner with us!” Phichit is suddenly calling, waving at the head of dark hair across the rink. Otabek makes his way around to the group. “Good job today, by the way,” Phichit adds, wringing Otabek’s hand thoroughly. Yuri thinks he can understand why Katsuki is friends with the Thai skater. Otabek makes eye contact with Yuri, but is quickly intercepted by Viktor. Viktor looks as if he’ll be hogging Otabek’s conversation for a while, so Yuri just walks side by side with Katsuki.

“You really showed up today, Katsudon,” Yuri says, nudging Katsuki with an elbow.

“It still doesn’t quite feel real,” Katsuki says. He smiles softly as he walks.

“So what, does this mean you and Viktor can finally get married now?”

“We talked about that already. We’re going to wait until we’re both retired to go ahead with a wedding. After all, planning it is going to be a nightmare with all of the international guests we’re going to be dealing with.”

“Have you decided who’s going to wear the dress?” Yuri smirks.

“I think you should Yurio. You’d be very fetching as my bridesmaid, don’t you think?”

“Shut up, Katsudon. Besides, when did I even say I’d be in your stupid wedding anyway?”

“Well, will you be in our stupid wedding?”

Yuri’s annoyed by the smile that cracks through his pout. “Yeah, ‘course I will. There’s gotta be someone there to keep you two from being too embarrassing.”

“Well I’m glad you’ll be keeping us in check.”

“I took your advice, by the way. Or at least I’m trying to.”

“Oh? I hope it helps you.”

“Yeah, well, if it goes wrong I’m blaming you,” Yuri grouses. Katsuki just smiles benignly back as he always does.

* * *

“Something wrong?” Otabek asks as they stand in the lobby while everyone says goodbyes.

“I just… it’s nothing.”

Otabek looks back at him. The way his body is angled towards Yuri as they speak makes Yuri want nothing more than to curl in for a hug that he never has to leave. Instead they just stand, staring at each other, and Yuri crosses his arms self consciously.

“Well, we’ll see each other again soon, alright?” Otabek finally offers when Yuri isn’t forthcoming with anything resembling a farewell. “I should be moving around the middle of this month.” Fuck. With all of the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, Yuri’s nearly forgotten that Otabek is moving to St. Petersburg. Otabek had announced the move officially after his free skate, so it was no big secret anymore. His own Twitter feed was already blowing up with Yuri’s Angels tweeting at him, asking about Otabek.

“Yeah… let me know when I can come crash your apartment or something,” Yuri says.

“I will. Have a safe trip back.”

“Thanks. You too.” He drops his arms, hoping desperately and pathetically for a hug or even a handshake, but Otabek is already busying himself with his bags.

“Bye, Yura,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away. Yuri picks up his luggage as well and slumps over to the rest of his team. Thomas is hovering nervously at the edge of the clump of Russian skaters.

“Hey. I just wanted to say goodbye. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you for these past few days. I’ve been so happy.” Thomas looks up with a shy smile. “Anyway, I was wondering if it was okay for me to kiss you goodbye.”

Yuri runs a rapid scan of everyone in the immediate area. No one seems to be looking at them. “Yeah, okay.”

Thomas leans in for just one little peck. It’s over in the span of a second, yet Yuri still swears he can feel every pair of eyes in the huge room trained on them. He shuffles marginally away, pretending to be adjusting the strap of his bag.

“Maybe if we have time during the off-season we could plan a visit. I haven’t visited Russia in a long time, or you could come visit me if you wanted.”

“I mean, I’ll have to see what sort of training schedule I’ll be on in the off season first,” Yuri says with a shrug. Frankly, he doesn’t think that knowing each other for a few months and dating for only a few days merits international travel.

“Okay. Let me know. Let’s talk soon?” Yuri finds himself wrapped up in a hug that he’d been so desperate for only a few minutes earlier. He holds Thomas a little awkwardly around the waist as his face is squished into Thomas’s shoulder.

“Bye,” Yuri says as he’s released.

“Bye,” Thomas repeats before trotting off to his own coach.

Yuri slips in with the rest of his rinkmates just as they head for the doors. Mila immediately grabs him possessively by the arm. “You are so going to spill everything to me.”

“There’s nothing to spill, nosy. We’re dating now. End of story,” Yuri snaps, shaking her off.

“Oh come on,” she whines, “There’s got to be more to it than that! Here I was thinking that you were still all caught up with Otabek and then you go ahead and catch yourself a different pretty skater boy. Is he a good kisser?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I was never caught up with Otabek, and also, that’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Whaaaat? You’re not going to tell your very best friend whether or not your boyfriend is a good kisser?”

“I don’t recall appointing you as my best friend. You must be delusional,” Yuri sniffs.

“Come ooooon Yurio, everyone else is just dying to know. Right Viktor?”

At the sound of his voice, Viktor snaps out of an earnest conversation with Lilia. “I have no idea what you’re asking me but I probably agree.”

“Yurio’s got a booooooyfriend!” Mila sing-songs dancing around him like a maniac.

“Oh?” Viktor exclaims, getting that terrifying look that he always has whenever he starts meddling. “Who is it? That Kazakh skater?” Yuri bites the inside of his cheek. Does everyone see what Yuri’s trying desperately to hide?

“Nope, it’s Christophe’s little rinkmate, the one who just joined the senior division.”

“Ah, good for you Yurio! You must tell us all about it!”

“For the last time,” Yuri half-shouts, “I didn’t ask for any of your opinions, so would you all shut up?”

“But Yurio, we need to know who’s dating you, so we can beat him up if he hurts you,” Viktor says, with a conspiratorial nod to Mila.

“Hey Mila,” Katsuki suddenly cuts in from behind them, “How is Sara doing? She skated really well yesterday.” Mila turns with a delighted look, always eager to gush about her girlfriend. Yuri shoots a grateful glance at Katsuki as Mila begins her rambling. Viktor appears to lose interest and returns to his conversation with Lilia. Yuri pulls out his earbuds, the universal signal for ‘ _No more well-meaning busybodies_ ’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the missed update. I've been working full time lately, and this chapter just didn't seem to want to come out. Hopefully things should move more smoothly from here on out. Thanks again to everyone for all of your support!


	6. St. Petersburg - Off Season 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has a boyfriend. Not to mention that his best friend is moving to his city, he might graduate early, Mila has important news, and apparently Viktor and Yuuri are fighting now. It's more drama than Yuri expected for one summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry that it's been so long between updates. Life really got in the way, and then this chapter really didn't want to be written. Suffice it to say, thank you all for sticking with me and with the story. I hope you enjoy!

With the scant week of time off he’s given between Worlds and off-season training, Yuri finds his time split between studying for upcoming exams and talking endlessly with Thomas. Which is to say, listening as Thomas talks endlessly in his direction over Skype. He’s still astonished with every conversation when Thomas manages to find new topics. At this point Yuri thinks he might know more about Thomas than he ever thought he would, let alone by their second week of dating.

He’s affectionate as well, almost overwhelmingly so. Yuri is subjected to pet names -  _ chéri  _ \- and dazzled with words that sound alarmingly close to “love”. “ _ I adore your presence, I’m so glad to just look at you again, I miss you. _ ” It’s incredibly, almost overly intense and Yuri feels a horrible pressure in the back of his mind to say something just as sweeping back, scrambling when nothing comes to mind. Thomas is curly-haired, has a cute face, and Yuri had definitely been leaning more towards liking kissing him when they had parted ways. So he simply stares uncomprehendingly at his camera and Thomas makes another comment about how cute he is when he’s embarrassed. Which does nothing to help the matter.

And so, Yuri finds himself using school as an (admittedly valid) excuse to cut short what would be exhaustingly long Skype dates. It’s not necessarily that he minds Thomas’s company - he spent half of his time at Worlds hanging around him, after all - but he can’t stand the guilt that settles over him when he can’t say anything back to Thomas’s declarations.

He sits now with his tutor. He and Grandpa have been lucky that she is an old friend of Yuri’s mother, and that she had been willing to give them discounted rates after Yuri’s parents died. Kseniya is short with a figure exuding stability, now interrupted by a slowly growing baby bump. She rests her feet on a cushion placed on top of an empty chair as she times Yuri’s practice exam.

“That’s time,  _ zaichik _ . Let me grade it,” she says, and he lets his pencil fall from his hand. She makes quick work of the thick packet, scanning the rows of circled answers with the ease of years of practice, occasionally marking an answer in red pen. Yuri sits back in his chair and does his best not to fidget. It drives Kseniya up the wall.

“This is your best yet. If I didn’t know this was yours, I would think it came from a student a year older than you.”

Yuri shuffles sheepishly under the praise and flips back through the packet she hands to him. There are far fewer red marks than last time.

“What mark would I have gotten on the real test?”

Kseniya checks the score against the sheet of equivalencies. “You would have gotten an above average score. More than enough to get you into most universities. And with your English, you could probably go to about any country you wanted.”

Yuri’s mouth quirks to the side at that. He avoids conversations about university at all costs.

“In fact, with how well you’re doing, you could probably even sit your exams early.”

“Really? Can we actually do that?”

“If you wanted to. However, I think it would probably be best for you to talk it over with your grandfather first,”  Kseniya says with a gentle tap to Yuri’s nose. He scrunches it up beneath her finger for her benefit, but his mind is elsewhere. He hasn’t even considered that he might be able to get his diploma early. If he can manage to sit his exams before competitions get rolling, he might be looking at an entirely different season than he’d been imagining.

“Well, we’re done for the day. I’ll see you again tomorrow,” Kseniya says and Yuri nods robotically, barely hearing her. His first instinct upon closing the door after her is to text Otabek. He has his phone out and their last conversation open before he stutters to a halt. Otabek is busy with moving, and Yuri can tell him once the stress is over with. It’s not like anything is finalized anyway. For all Yuri knows he could be stuck spending the next two years still being homeschooled.

With a sigh, he pulls his thoughts together and trots up the stairs to change into his practice clothes. There’s no need to even think about it until Grandpa gets home, which won’t be until after he gets back from the rink.

* * *

 

“Afternoon, boy,” Yakov says gruffly.

Yuri just grunts in response, sitting up out of straddle splits. He’s finally back to perfectly parallel with them, though he’ll need to build back up to oversplits. Yakov doesn’t walk away as Yuri sits forward on one leg, curling the other behind him to try and touch his toe to his head. He’s just brushing the crown. He spares a glance at Yakov.

“You ready to hear about your program for this season?” Yuri releases his foot and unfolds himself to his feet. He’s finally regaining some of his bodily grace and can’t really help showing off a bit. He feels a bit entitled to it after the months of ungainliness he’s been dealing with.

“Lay it on me,” Yuri says, more than a little pleased that he’s within a few centimeters of being able to look Yakov in the eye.

“We’re having you do Swan Lake this season.”

Yuri blinks rapidly at Yakov several times. “ _ Swan Lake _ ?” Yakov nods tersely and the set look on his face tells Yuri that he’s not just fucking around.

“That’s so overdone,” Yuri blurts. “There’s a Swan Lake program every damn year.”

Yakov holds up a hand. “How many male skaters can you name who’ve done it?” Yuri snaps his mouth shut, swallowing the retort he’d been about to fire. “Now, we haven’t decided this on a whim. There are reasons for it. First of all, can you tell me what your theme last season was?”

Yuri pauses, racks his brain to try and remember. He shakes his head.

“That’s right. There wasn’t much of one. It was all vague and the two programs were just thrown together because, well, you had  _ Agape  _ down already. This year we’re going at this with a purpose. Now, I’m not saying we’re winning any originality awards, but we’re going to make you a damned competitive program, and we can do that with Swan Lake’s music. The second big reason is because we want to give you a program that’s emotionally easier to wrangle so you can focus on your technique. I don’t need you out on the ice worrying about whether or not you’re being  _ Agape  _ or not, I want you to be nailing your elements. Everyone and their mother knows the story of Swan Lake, so all you have to do is act it out. Lastly is because Lilia has good choreography for it and she believes that you have the skill to pull it off. You’re gonna blow ‘em out of the damn water, kid.”

Yuri crosses his arms, contemplating. Of course he’s looking forward to the day when he can start figuring out his own show themes, but one Grand Prix gold does not a choreographer make. Viktor is living proof that 5 Grand Prix golds does not a coach make, after all. He thinks about how it felt to stand on the podium below Viktor and Katsuki.

“Alright. So what, am I doing the prince or the evil magician guy or something?”

Yakov smirks and Yuri’s stomach drops. “Oh no. You’re going to be the swan.”

JJ is going to have a fucking field day with this.

* * *

 

Yuri props his feet on the chair across from him. His exam study book may be giving him a headache but the kitchen is warm and full of the delightful, homey scents of Grandpa’s cooking. Grandpa stirs thoughtfully at the stew on the stove, looking away from Yuri - seemingly into the middle distance.

“What are you thinking about?” Yuri asks, looking up from practice math problems.

Grandpa stirs as if he’s forgotten Yuri is there. “Oh nothing much. A little of this and a little of that. I was thinking about your mother, actually.”

“What were you thinking about her?” Yuri asks, cocking his head. It’s rare for Grandpa to speak freely about his daughter.

“I was remembering when she was your age. Don’t be mad with me, but I think you look a bit like her. Her hair was about the same length and color as yours when she was a teenager.” Yuri ducks his head. He can’t remember any other time someone told him he is like his mother. It’s a small thing but it’s a thread connecting them at least.

“That doesn’t make me mad. I like hearing about Mama.”

“Ah yes. I must remember to sit down with you some evening and tell you her stories. But not now, the stew is ready.”

They set their small table and Yuri grimaces at the pitifully small helping of stew accompanied by a veritable mountain of blanched veggies. He turns his pitiful gaze on Grandpa. “It’s off-season,” he whines. Grandpa surveys him for a moment, before doling an extra scoop of stew onto Yuri’s plate.

“Mix the vegetables in and they’ll taste better,” Grandpa advises him as he starts on his own dish - with a much more reasonable pile of bland vegetables. “Did anything interesting happen at the rink today?”

“Not really. I got my theme for the season, they’re making me do Swan Lake. If it’s what they think is best though, I guess I’ll do it.”

“Seems wise of you, Yurochka. How about school?”

“It was fine. I did more practice exams today. Kseniya just keeps getting bigger.”

“How are your practice exams going?”

“Well… I wanted to ask something about that, actually,” Yuri says as he pokes at the limp vegetables on the edges of his plate. He hears Grandpa’s fork pause as he picks up the change in Yuri’s tone. When the fork begins moving again without a word, Yuri plunges forward.

“Kseniya says I’m doing really well on my practice exams, well enough that she feels like I could pass the real ones with good marks. So I was hoping that maybe I could take them and get my diploma this summer.”

He ventures a glance across the table. Grandpa looks contemplative.

“What would you do then after getting your diploma? Sixteen is still very young to start university, although I suppose we could sort out some online classes…” Yuri screws up his face. This is exactly where he hadn’t wanted the conversation to go.

“I don’t think university is necessarily… the biggest concern in my life right now.” Grandpa looks at him sharply, though without anger. Yuri struggles on. Words have never been his strong suit. “I mean, I’m heading towards the peak years of skating now. Worlds this year… well they showed me that I’m not at the top of my game yet. I need to put everything into skating.”

“So, you’re suggesting that you take a few years’ break before going to university?”

Yuri inhales as deeply as he dares with his heart pounding the way it is. “I’m not sure if going to university is what I want.”

The statement hangs heavily in the silence between them. Grandpa is scanning Yuri’s face, expression unreadable. Then he lets out a heavy sigh, looking down at his plate.

“You know, I did everything I possibly could to make sure that your mother finished secondary school. I never got the chance to, and I wanted things to be better for her. She graduated with just passing marks, turned to her skating and never looked back until she had you. When you were born, she intended for you to be the first in our family to go to university.”

Yuri’s brain sifts rapidly through what he knows of his mother. There’s what he remembers of her - the way she would sing him to sleep, her hands guiding him through his first steps on the ice, and the way she would sit on the floor with him and play with the toy monster trucks he’d liked when he was five. Then there’s what Grandpa has told him - that she was as skillful a skater as Yuri, that she’d trained under Yakov as well, and that she had loved him very dearly. It’s not much in terms of memories to know a person by. Yuri now adds another to the collection - she was apparently determined for him to go to university, regardless of what he might feel about the matter.

“I don’t like school stuff. It’s always been skating that I liked most, that I worked at the most. Why should I bother spending the money to go to university when it’s not something I care about?” Yuri offers.

“Why don’t we speak about this more another time.”

“But I’m just saying-” Yuri manages before Grandpa cuts across him.

“I need time to think on this,” he says in that commanding tone that tells Yuri that the discussion is truly over. Silence falls over the dinner table again as Yuri picks dejectedly at his vegetables and stew before excusing himself to his room.

* * *

 

Yuri walks into the rink early next morning only to bear witness to an impressive shouting match between Yakov and Mila, of all people.

“I will NOT agree to you wasting an entire summer’s work for something so frivolous!” Yakov bellows.

“It is NOT frivolous and I am NOT going to be wasting an entire summer’s work,” Mila shouts back, looking frustrated but shockingly not cowed by Yakov’s aggression. She raises her hands slightly, as if in surrender and lowers her voice with her next sentence. “This is something that’s important to me. It’s at least as important as my skating. If you have any faith in me, as a skater and a person, you’ll let me go. This isn’t some stupid attempt of mine to slack off. You know better than anyone how much I want to win. And I’ve planned it so I’ll be back a month before the season starts in earnest. You’ll have your time to fix whatever you don’t approve of.”

Yakov begins to slowly deflate at her more calming tone, though his face still remains rather red with the remnants of his anger. “You’re certain enough about this… about her, that you’d be willing to jeopardize your season?”

Mila nods definitively.

“I’m not your parent. I can’t stop you from going.” Yakov leans against the wall dividing him from the ice. “Go then, and don’t you dare come back with any bad habits,” he says, the gruffness in his voice almost managing to disguise the quiver of emotion.

Yuri manages to catch Mila just before she slips into the women’s locker room. “What the hell was that all about?” he asks, blocking her path with one leopard printed shoe.

“What you just saw actually went a lot better than I had imagined it,” she laughs. At Yuri’s crossed arms and set expression she expands. “I’m going to spend the summer in Italy with Sara.”

Yuri can’t stop his jaw from dropping. He’d assumed it was something with Sara, but this hadn’t crossed his mind. “The whole summer?” he blurts.

“Well, I’m leaving mid-May and coming back mid-July, so most of it at least. What, are you gonna miss me?” she asks, throwing an arm around his neck the way she always does. He shrugs her off, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“How long have you two even been dating? Fucking hell, what they say about lesbians and moving in together is true I guess.”

“Firstly, we’ve been dating since European Championships, so about three months. Secondly, I am not a lesbian, so your statement doesn’t even count. Thirdly, I’m not moving in with her because she and her brother live in their parents house. I’m going to sublet a flat and train with Sara and Mickey’s coach while I’m there.”

Yuri scowls weakly at her, trying to prevent the tightening in his chest from reaching his face. Not much point in bandying about it when he can clearly feel the disappointment, he is going to miss her. A lot. Until two minutes ago, he hadn’t even realized how stupidly large of a part of his life she is.

“Don’t worry, you still have almost a month left with me before we make our tearful goodbyes,” Mila says, draping herself dramatically over Yuri once again. He tussles with her, pushing her off, snapping, “Get off me, hag!” He’s relieved to have a script he knows how to follow again. Goodbyes aren’t really a strong suit of his, and he’s glad to be pushing this one to a later date.

* * *

 

All of the fuss of Mila’s unexpected departure and the beginning stages of working out his new season routines has Yuri soundly distracted for over a week. He’s doing his short program to the famous waltz from Swan Lake, while his free program will be taken from the finale of the ballet. He’s been in intense “swan boot camp” (as he’s taken to calling it) with Lilia most days with the rest of his training time spent deciding on jumps and other elements to place in both routines.

On top of all of this, his school work with Kseniya continues to ratchet up in difficulty, and Grandpa still hasn’t come to a decision on Yuri’s request. Every night he collapses into his bed, exhausted with barely a glance at his phone to set an alarm for the next morning. This is how he ends up with a cache of messages he hasn’t spared a moment on by the time he has his next day off.

Most are from Thomas, averaging about two a day. The most recent ones read: “Are you doing alright?” and “You’re not mad at me, are you?” Yuri rubs his temples between his fingers as he tries to formulate an adequate response to what Thomas considers an unacceptably long radio silence. With his boyfriend - god, the word still feels strange, even in Yuri’s mind - hopefully placated, Yuri makes his way through his other messages. There are a few in a group chat he was unfortunately put in with a large number of the other men’s figure skaters that he ignores, and then two from Otabek.

**[from Otabek]:** I’m flying up with the last of my stuff next Tuesday.

**[from Otabek]:** Do you want to come see my apartment on Thursday when I’ve moved in?

Yuri’s heart does an involuntary leap in his chest. The texts had come in on Thursday and it’s Sunday. Yuri does his best not to dwell on the awkward way they had left things after Worlds, and instead focus on the fact that his best friend would be living in the same city as him, rather than a five hour plane ride away. He also does his best not to dwell on the confused feelings still knotted up inside him about said best friend. He jumps in shock when his phone buzzes with Thomas’s name.

Feeling guilty for not talking to Thomas in so long, Yuri is the one to offer to Skype.

“Hi,  _ chéri _ ,” Thomas says when the call connects, as if he couldn’t be more blissfully happy than he is here, looking at Yuri’s slightly grainy face.

“Hey. How are you?” Yuri asks, already overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Thomas’s emotion. Thomas immediately launches into some story about what happened at the rink yesterday, coupled with news about Christophe’s injury and the other million things he can come up with to tell.

“You should send me pictures sometimes,” Thomas says, cutting through to Yuri’s distracted brain.

“Pictures?” Yuri asks, unable to help how his voice squeaks up a few pitches.

“Not like that silly. I mean unless you want to. But just of what you’re doing and stuff!”

“You want to see all the boring crap I do with my day?”

“Of course! I want to know more about your life.” Under Thomas’s earnest, eager gaze, Yuri can’t bring himself to say no.

“Alright, I guess. It’ll mostly be of Mila though-” he pauses, remembering with a pang that she’s abandoning him for the summer, “-or other stuff. Like my cat.” He points the camera away from his face to show Sasha curled up on the corner of his bed.

“So, is anything interesting happening with you?”

Interesting isn’t quite the word Yuri would choose for his life lately. He thinks again of Mila, of Otabek’s impending arrival, and of his not-quite-an-argument with Grandpa over university.

“Well they’re making me do Swan Lake as my theme next season, so that sucks,” he says after slightly too long of a pause.

“I bet the costumes will look amazing though. I liked your Agape costume a lot from this year.” Thomas tilts his head with a soft smile.

“Yeah, well it was Viktor’s first anyway. I would have changed it after that competition with Katsuki but Yakov wouldn’t let me.” That and the fact that only having to purchase one costume had significantly cut costs for the season.

“Well, my lunch hour is almost over, so I have to go. Let’s talk again soon  _ c _ _ héri.  _ I miss you,” Thomas says forming a heart with his hands.

Yuri blushes furiously and finds himself looking anywhere other than the camera. “Yeah, talk to you soon. Have a good day, bye.” He hangs up before he can be peppered by any more affections.

* * *

 

Yuri slings his bag over his shoulder, peeping around the mostly empty locker room in search of Viktor and Katsuki. Grandpa is out at the pub with co-workers tonight, so rather than make his own food, he’s hoping to poach off of the happy couple again.

“Can you  _ please _ just listen to what I’m saying, Yuuri?”

Yuri does a double take at the sound of Viktor so unusually agitated. It sounds as though he and Katsuki are standing just outside of the locker room door to the lobby, having a hushed argument.

“I am listening to what you’re saying. I’m just saying that I don’t want you to do this out of some sort of misguided attempt to give me something I want. All I’ve ever wanted is to see you happy.” Katsuki sounds like he’s fighting through strong emotion to speak clearly.

“I won’t lie to you and say this isn’t about you, because that’s part of it,” Viktor admits, “but this is also something I’ve been ready for ever since I met you.”

“I just don’t want you to look back and have regrets because of me,” Katsuki says, voice wavering on the edge of tears. Yuri has half a mind to burst out and clock both of them over the heads for whatever they’re arguing about.

“I swear, I won’t  _ lyubov moya _ . This is the right choice for me.”

“Alright.” Katsuki sounds both defeated and relieved. Now that the argument has apparently wound down, Yuri makes a point to rustle his clothes and stomp his feet as he approaches the door.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you two,” Yuri says, feigning surprise at seeing them there. Both Viktor and Katsuki seem too wrapped up in thoughts to pay much mind to Yuri’s shitty acting. “Can I crash your place for food again?”

“Of course. Any time you want,” Katsuki says, and Yuri swears he catches Katsuki wiping at the corner of his eye.

Yuri watches the pair hawkishly throughout the rest of the night, alert for any sign of unrest. Despite both looking slightly drawn, they continue to play their blissful couple façade. They hold hands for the entirety of the walk, bantering as usual, with the gushy nicknames and all. Yuri feels a horrible suspicion in the pit of his gut that they’re just putting on an act for his sake. He picks at his food and clears out of their apartment as quickly as possible to allow them to get back to whatever falling out he had interrupted. He can’t help but wonder on his way home, why his life seems to be crashing around his ears right now of all times.

* * *

 

Yuri knows that it’s not supposed to feel like a chore to talk to the person you’re dating. He knows this, and thus feels horribly guilty for not sharing the same enthusiasm Thomas seems to hold for talking to him. Those feelings are simply compounded by the fact that Yuri doesn’t know what to tell Thomas about Otabek, or even whether he should tell Thomas. After all, Yuri and nosey Katsuki are the only people who know about Yuri’s weird crush, and it’s not like Yuri is ever going to act on it. That still doesn’t keep it out of his head, and he finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

There’s no written protocol for situations like these. There really should be, Yuri thinks absently as he presses repeatedly at a slightly cracked elevator button. It’s not going to make the elevator come faster, but it makes him feel like it might. Honestly though, what is a guy supposed to do when meeting up with his super-cool, deejays in his part time, generally amazing, best friend/crush? Especially when said guy also has a perfectly cute, affectionate, and available boyfriend on hand.

The elevator interrupts his convoluted train of thought.

Before he knows it, he’s hesitantly knocking on Otabek’s new door. Otabek answers almost immediately. He must have been waiting, and that makes Yuri’s chest squeeze in a way it has no right to be doing. 

“Come on in, Yura. Sorry about all the boxes, I think I overestimated my unpacking ability.”

Yuri can’t help but smile when Otabek does. “I’ll give you a hand if you buy me food.”

“Deal,” Otabek replies extending his hand the same way he did when they met. Just like that Yuri’s thoughts slip away from his own awkwardness and the tension he’s unintentionally created. He’s simply hanging out with his best friend.

They’re sitting together among the pieces of a half-assembled couch, chowing on takeout from the little shop downstairs when Yuri’s phone buzzes. He stuffs down the grumble that rises up in his throat  before reaching for it.

“Is it your grandpa?” Otabek asks, rooting through the remains of the food.

“No, it’s just Thomas,” Yuri mumbles.

“He’s the one who medaled with you at European Championships, right?” Yuri nods. He would like to thank the stars and the universe itself for Otabek not asking whether Thomas is Yuri’s boyfriend. He’s certain that Otabek knows, but thank god for him being the only person tactful enough to not tease Yuri about it. He’s not sure he could handle that.

It feels like two of his separate worlds are crashing again. Laughing and dicking around with Otabek is easy until Thomas comes into the picture to remind Yuri that he’s not always faithful in his thoughts.

“I do have to go though,” Yuri says glumly.

“Really? Why so soon?”

“Viktor and Katsudon made me promise to meet with them today. I’m guessing they’re either going to tell me they’re pregnant, or that they’re getting a divorce.”

“Makes sense,” Otabek nods sagely, a hint of a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Have a good time either way, and tell them I said hi.”

“Did you know they have an actual fanclub now?” Yuri asks as he snags his hoodie and slides on his shoes. “Like there’s a group of grown-ass women following them around St. Petersburg.”

“Well, you have a fanclub, Yura. I seem to recall rescuing you from their clutches.” Yuri is struck by the strangest thought that he wishes he could draw if only to capture Otabek’s smile forever. Then he shakes himself of it like a wet dog.

“Theirs is weirder thought. My creepy fans are other teenagers, but theirs are grown ups, and they’re fans of the relationship. Not of either of their skating, just of their relationship.”

“See, this is my answer when everyone asks why I don’t use social media. I’d rather not have the crazies knowing that much detail about my life.”

“Never change,” Yuri laughs as he steps across the threshold. He’s not hopeful or confident enough to try for a hug, but Otabek claps his shoulder and that feels like enough for now.

A short bus ride later, he arrives outside of Viktor’s apartment building and in a strange moment of deja vu, finds himself standing in front of the elevator again.

“Yuuuuurioooo!” Viktor calls when he lets Yuri in. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah, me and Otabek just ate. Why’d you make me come all the way over here? Are you guys ditching for the summer too?” Yuri asks.

“Nope, you’ll be stuck with us the whole time,” Viktor says with that stupid, cheesy smile. “Yuuri,  _ zolotse _ , come in here!”

“Oh, is Yurio here? I had my headphones in. Hi Yurio,” Katsuki says, peeking out of the doorframe leading to the bedroom. “Let me grab it.”

“What, are you trying to dump your crap on me or something?”

“Just wait,” Viktor says, his index finger tapping his lower lip.

Yuri plops himself onto their couch as Katsuki exits the bedroom once more. “We had planned to get you a ticket to Almaty for your birthday this year, so you could go visit Otabek. Then he ended up moving here, so we were stumped until Mila decided to go to Italy for the summer…”

“So we got you a late birthday present!” Viktor finishes as Katsuki holds out a printed piece of paper.

Yuri’s jaw flaps uselessly for a few moments as he scans the contents of the page. “Did you-”

“We cleared it with Yakov. He agreed it was okay for you to go for a week,” Viktor interrupts before Yuri can even form his question.

Yuri feels like his chest has swelled up. He bites down several knee-jerk reactions that threaten to tumble out of his mouth. “I- thanks.”

Time seems to skip for Yuri over the next two months. Practice drags without MIla there to lighten the mood, but the weeks slip away before he realizes it. With Otabek around to spend weekends with and Thomas vying for all of the rest of his free time for Skype dates, Yuri suddenly finds himself upon his trip to see Mila.

* * *

She had been surprisingly lax on the mocking, opting more for enthusiasm. Yuri appreciates it. She meets him at the baggage claim, and he’s only slightly ashamed to admit that he gave her one of his tackling hugs. Luckily, she’s tall enough and strong enough that it barely even knocks her off balance.

Her flat is small but sunny. They sit at the table drinking what Yuri thinks is probably the best wine on the fucking planet, while Mila grills him about what’s been happening at home. They spend the better part of an hour just laughing and talking, until Mila turns the interrogation lamp over to him.

“Soooo, Yurio, how’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s fine,” Yuri replies tersely, turning sullenly away.

“Uh oh… are you mad at him right now or something? You’ve barely even looked at your phone since you got here.

“I’m not mad at him, stupid. I don’t know why that’s the first thing you’d-”

“Is he a bad kisser? Is he just a bad boyfriend? Did he hurt you, cause if he did I’m going to hunt down the little fucker and beat the crap out of him.”

“He’s not a bad boyfriend,” Yuri snaps in frustration. “He’s fucking perfect and that’s the damn problem!”

Mila goes unnaturally quiet for a long moment, looking Yuri over. As she tops off his glass, she says, “I’ll listen if you want to talk about it. I know I always tease you but it sounds like you need to get something off your chest.”

“It’s nothing…” Yuri backpedals, sipping his wine to buy himself time. Mila continues to look at him, her normally impish eyes surprisingly serious. “How is it supposed to feel when you’re with someone? Like… how do you feel when you’re dating someone?”

Mila considers the question with her hand supporting her chin. The setting sun is washing through the windows as Yuri self-consciously spins the stem of his glass between his palms.

“It depends I guess. For me at least, it feels like my chest is being squeezed really tightly, and you just want to roll around on your bed, squealing like an idiot every time you get a good morning text from them. I mean, of course it changes as you get further in the relationship, but that’s what the beginning part feels like to me. What does it feel like to you?”

Yuri is determinedly avoiding Mila’s gaze at this point. “It feels nice I guess, but didn’t you ever feel like it was a lot of work? Having to text someone all the time, and them saying embarrassing stuff to you, y’know?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way.”

The sun has slunk further down the horizon as Yuri waits for Mila to tell him that he’s doing everything wrong, that he’s a terrible person for not having normal fucking human emotions. She stands and flicks on the light so that they’re not left in darkness when the sun disappears.

“Yuri, are you sure you like Thomas?”

The question catches him by surprise. Of course he likes Thomas. Kissing him was nice, and Thomas obviously likes him a lot. They’re similar ages, and they both love figure skating, and Thomas makes him laugh more often than most people other than-

Other than Otabek.

How typical of his brain to keep going back to that. Despite it all, Yuri can’t shake it from his head, can’t forget the fact that whatever he feels for Thomas doesn’t feel anything like the stupid burning crush he’s been clutching to his chest.

“I don’t know. He likes me.”

“It’s not about whether or not he likes you. It’s about how you feel. You don’t ever have to date someone just because they like you.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him. I do. It’s just… he’s so much more serious about it, and he says all of these things that I can’t say back to him.”

“Why can’t you say it back?”

Yuri wants to shoot a barb at her, tell her she’s not his fucking therapist or something. That’s what he wants to say, but when his mouth falls open, all that tumbles out is, “Because of Otabek.”

Immediately he slaps his hand over his traitorous mouth, waits for the inevitable taunts and crowing of  _ “I called it _ ”. It doesn’t come.

“I kind of figured as much.”

“You figured?” Yuri blurts.

“You’re not very subtle, little kitten,” she says with a smirk that somehow still manages to be sympathetic. In response to Yuri’s horrified look she continues hurriedly, “I don’t think he knows though. He’s not exactly very socially adept…”

“Well, now you know. I suppose now you’re going to lecture me about how I should just give up on it and shit, right?

“Nah,” she says, and Yuri’s shoulders drop from around his ears. “Feelings are stupid, and you can’t just decide to stop liking someone. Especially if they’re your friend. You’ll work it out one way or the other.”

Yuri flashes her a grateful smile. “Stop being so grown up, it’s freaking me out. I’m starving. Are we gonna go get food?”

“Yeah, gimme one sec,” Mila says as she takes their glasses into the kitchen. “Oh, and Yuri,” she calls from the sink.

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to break up with Thomas. It’s not fair to him.”

“Yeah, I know…” Yuri sighs. As if on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He jerks instinctively to grab it, then decides against it as Mila grabs her purse. Whatever it is, it can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Zaichik_ =little rabbit (an affectionate name since Kseniya has known Yuri for a long time.


	7. St. Petersburg - Off Season 2017 (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Yuri thought his dramatic summer was over, he was dead wrong. From his first real break-up to more trouble with Grandpa, it's turned out to be one of the most eventful summers he's had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to cafunelester whose lovely comment on the last chapter finally inspired me to get back to this fic. Needless to say, this fic is dear to me and I do hope to finish it, I just unfortunately can't give a clear timeline of when that will happen. Thank you all for being patient with me!!!

Breaking up with Thomas is a lot harder than it was to get together with him. Yuri had wondered aloud on his last day staying with Mila whether it might just be kinder to let the connection fizzle rather than hurt Thomas’s feelings. He’d received a cuff across the back of his head for his inquiry. 

“You don’t just disappear on someone when you’re in a relationship. That’s a crap thing to do and I don’t ever want to hear that you’ve done it Yuri Plisetsky.” Yuri had sensed a history behind the ferocity of the statement, but wisely decided not to pry.

Now he sits with his finger hovering over the call button in Skype. He’s not sure how long he’s sat for at this point, just trapped within his own brain imagining all of the ways this conversation could go down. He’s not sure what he’s most afraid of, Thomas crying on him, or getting pissed off. Probably the crying. Yuri can handle angry, he does on a daily basis with Yakov after all, but he has no clue how to deal with crying people. Hell, when he’d run into Katsuki crying in the bathroom after the 2015 Grand Prix, he’d ended up shouting at him. 

Yuri Plisetsky is many things, but a people person is not one of them.

Sasha stretches beside him with the strange little noise she always makes when getting up. Her movement jolts Yuri suddenly back into the present and he refocuses on his phone. Out of excuses, he finally presses the tiny green video icon.

It rings for what feels like an eternity to Yuri, yet he’s still caught off-guard when Thomas does pick up.  
“Hi there! To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call?” Yuri’s gut twists furiously at that. He’s about to break this boy’s heart, probably for the first time.

To his credit, Thomas takes it amazingly well. He remains quiet as Yuri fumbles through his explanations, through his reassurances that Thomas had done nothing wrong. It’s still painful to watch though as the smile slips off his face, his eyes turning downcast. Yuri finishes his bit and heavy silence settles between them.

“I was… I’m too much, aren’t I?” Thomas says in the smallest voice Yuri’s ever heard from him.

“No… not at all. It’s more like I’m too little. I can’t give you what you’re giving me. It’s not fair to you,” Yuri says, repeating back some of Mila’s words. 

“I kind of wondered, you know, when you went to visit your rinkmate in Italy and didn’t even mention visiting me.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go ahead and go now,” Yuri says, desperate beyond belief to be done, if only for Thomas’s sake. He can see the tightening at the edges of brown eyes and the laborious swallowing telling him that Thomas is holding back tears.

After he hangs up, tears come to his eyes too. He’s not quite sure what he’s crying for. Maybe it’s the death of his first real relationship, maybe he’s crying for Thomas’s sake, or maybe in some awful way he’s crying out of relief. He simply tugs Sasha close to him and runs his hand against her soft fur until it passes.

* * *

“Extend the line through your fingertips. Now hold, let it linger with longing. Remember, the swan is losing her last chance at life, her last chance at love. And flow into the next phrase for the big finish!”

Yuri lets his arms flutter to a stop, his head resting against the polished wood of the dance studio floor. Lilia stands off to the side, studying him. She gives a slight nod, and shuts off the stereo system.

“Alright. I think we are finally beginning to make a beautiful swan of you. Off to the rink with you,” she says brusquely, practically shooing him out of the studio. 

Yuri is done with fucking Swan Lake, tired of acting like a swan, and really, truly sick of being called beautiful and pretty. Katsuki gets compliments on his stamina, on his form, and on his technique. Yuri is told to be prettier. He thinks he may understand what finally drove Viktor to cut off all his hair.

Speaking of, Yuri walks into the rink just as Viktor is taking the ice. He draws to a stop to watch. He hasn’t actually managed to see Viktor’s routine in full yet, and never with music. He knows the theme is some sappy bullshit to do with meeting Katsuki.

The last thing he expects is for Panic! At the Disco to start blaring through the rink speakers. The routine isn’t finished, most of the jumps have easy doubles replacing the eventual larger jumps, but Viktor’s movements compliment the jazzy electronic song. Yuri rolls his eyes as he catches Viktor winking at Katsuki across the rink. Katsuki just smiles indulgently back at him.

Panting, on the center of the ice, Viktor drops his end pose too quickly and looks to Yakov for approval.

“Like I say, it wouldn’t be my choice of music, but the routine is fine Vitya.”

Viktor glides in closer to Yakov so they can talk about the fine-tuning details, Yuri thinks. He plops on the bench and kicks his shoes off.

“Have you told him yet?” Yakov asks in a voice so low Yuri almost doesn’t catch it. 

“No. Well, according to Yuuri and Mila, he’s under a lot of stress lately. I didn’t want to bring him down more.”

“I’m right here assholes,” Yuri barks, yanking his skate lace tighter than necessary. “What’s the big deal? Are you and katsudon finally going to elope and leave us all alone?”

“Not exactly,” Viktor says, looking less sheepish than he should considering he was talking about Yuri right in front of him.

“Well, spill it, or else I’m gonna assume that I won’t care anyway.”

“This season is his last,” Katsuki says, dropping onto the bench next to Yuri. “Or rather, this Olympics is his last.”

Yuri turns his gaze on Viktor. “Is it for real this time? Or are you just fucking around with all of us again in the name of ‘surprise’?”

“It’s for real this time. I decided that I wanted to spend the last part of the season focusing on coaching Yuuri for Worlds and for planning the wedding. We’ve decided on next summer, by the way.”

“Well Christ, with all of the fuss you’ve been making I thought you were dying or that you and katsudon here were getting divorced.”

“We can’t really get divorced if we’re not married yet,” Katsuki says sagely.

“Might as well be. Honestly, you two are worse than Yakov and Lilia, and they actually were married.”  
“I’m also right here,” Yakov jabs, before wandering away, presumably to gruff at some other skaters.

The weight Yuri hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying lifts from the back of his mind. Of course the lovebirds aren’t breaking up. Yuri’s mostly just surprised at himself that he hadn’t managed to figure out what they had been arguing about.

“You’re taking this better than I expected you would, Yurio,” Viktor says.

“What, did you expect me to beg you not to leave? Please. Just makes it easier for me to take your place and come after all your records.”

“Ah, I should have known better than to expect kind words from my angry son,” Viktor sighed, wiping a mock tear away.

“Don’t call me your son, idiot. You might be old, but you ain’t that old.”

“Oh Yuuri, look at the horrid things our son is saying to us,” Viktor says, continuing on his idiotic pantomime. 

“Go to hell, geezer,” Yuri says, stepping out onto the ice. It had always been inevitable that Viktor would one day retire and Yuri would step into his place. Viktor’s idiotic flight of fancy to become Katsuki’s coach had only served to prepare Yuri for this eventuality. He’s not even sure what Viktor had hoped to prove by coming back at all. 

Practice speeds by quickly, and before he realizes it, it’s already time for everyone to break for dinner. Yuri debates between crashing Viktor and Katsuki and texting Otabek to see if he’s done with practice yet. 

“I think your phone is going off,” Katsuki says as he unlaces his skates. “I keep hearing your bag buzzing.”

Yuri fishes his phone out of his bag to see that an unknown number is indeed calling him. A quick scroll through his notifications tells him that the same number has called him almost 10 times in the last hour. Brow furrowed, Yuri picks up.

“Is this Yuri Plisetsky?” an unfamiliar voice asks him.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I am Sergei Orlov, your grandfather’s shift manager. I’m calling to let you know that your grandfather has had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital right now, being seen to.”

Yuri barely registers the phone slipping from his grasp. By some base instinct, he manages to catch it again before it can fall to the floor. With a trembling hand, he raises it back to his ear.

“Where?” is all he can say, in a hoarse voice.

“City hospital number 40 -” 

It’s all Yuri needs to hear. He hangs up and begins furiously shoving his various things into his bag.

“What was that all about, Yurio?” Katsuki asks, brow furrowing in concern.

“I need to get to the hospital right now.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen in understanding and he nods fervently. “Which hospital? I’ll call you a cab.”

Viktor and Katsuki both insist on coming with him, and Yuri’s not sure whether or not he’s grateful. The cab ride is silent and feels like it drags for hours. Yuri internally curses every red light they hit, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles go white.

They pull up to the hospital after what Yuri thinks is an eternity too long. Viktor manages to catch Yuri by the collar before he can charge through the doors of the hospital. 

“Wait. We need to find out where he’ll be first. Then I promise we’ll go to him,” Viktor says, keeping a firm hand on Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri still isn’t completely against the idea of bursting in and yelling at someone until they tell him where Grandpa is but allows Viktor to redirect him. Viktor leads them into the front lobby, and it’s as if people part before him like curtains. It’s difficult to stand in Viktor Nikiforov’s way when he looks like this. 

He exchanges a brief flurry of words with the woman working at the front desk, who seems very flustered to have her country’s figure skating champions standing in front of her. She tells him the proper wing of the hospital and Viktor nods, as if he’d already known the answer. Then Viktor is striding quickly off again, still tethered to Yuri at the shoulder with Katsuki trailing behind.

The doctor looks impassive as he explains that Nikolai Plisetsky had survived the minor heart attack, and is now finishing up in the ICU.

“When can I see him?” Yuri asks, feeling inexplicably like his skin is stretched too tight across his body. The doctor responds, not to Yuri but to Viktor, and it makes Yuri’s blood boil.

“I’m afraid it will be several hours until he will be well enough to see family.”

Yuri collapses into one of the waiting room chairs after that. A tall, nondescript man walks over and introduces himself as Sergei Orlov. Yuri blankly thanks him for waiting to this point, to which Sergei tersely nods, before excusing himself.

“We’ll be right over here if you need us, Yuri,” Viktor says, and Yuri’s not struck so much by his expression but by the lack of the usual nickname. Yuri nods again, and Katsuki and Viktor settle themselves in seats a few spaces from his. It’s unusually perceptive of them to realize that he needs space right now. Must have been Katsuki’s idea, he’s always had more tact in his pinky than Viktor does in his whole body.

Almost mindlessly, Yuri sends texts to Mila, Kseniya, and Otabek, letting them know what’s happened. Otabek’s reply is almost instantaneous.

[from Otabek]: Do you want me to come wait with you?

Yuri’s gut wrenches in gratitude. The fact that Otabek’s first thought is to come and support him, even though it’s boring and has nothing to do with him… it’s a feeling that Yuri hasn’t experienced. Of course his gut instinct is to say, yes please, but this isn’t Otabek’s problem to worry about. Yuri’s also not sure about how he feels about Otabek seeing him this vulnerable. As petty as it sounds, Yuri doesn’t want to shatter the image of the soldier that Otabek seems to have of him.

[Yuri]: nah it’s ok. got the lovebirds here with me

“I really hate being in this place.” Viktor’s voice cuts through Yuri’s thoughts as Katsuki shushes him. Managing to gather up enough mental energy to lift himself out of the chair, Yuri deposits himself next to his fellow skaters.

“You spending a lot of time around hospitals already, old man?” Yuri jibes weakly. Viktor turns soft, pity-filled eyes on him and Yuri hates it.

“Around this one, unfortunately. It’s where they treated my mother’s cancer until she died. And it’s where they took your parents after the accident. I’m surprised you don’t remember, although you were pretty young.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Because I came to wait here. Your mother was my instructor before Yakov, don’t you know?”

“No, I didn’t know, because no one ever bothers to tell me a fucking thing about my parents unless they’re saying how proud they would be of me.” Yuri snaps his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to release all that venom at Viktor. It’s not Viktor’s fault.

“Ah. Well, my mother was friends with yours. It’s thanks to your mother that I got interested in skating at all. She was always so soft-spoken, but I remember liking how gentle her hands were when she corrected my movements. This was all before she had you of course. I must have been 10 or 11 when I started taking lessons with her. In fact, I think that was why I had to stop, actually, was because she was pregnant and it became too hard on her to teach lessons.”

“So you were here waiting when they died?” Yuri asks, filing away the tidbits of information.

“Yes,” Viktor says soberly, “Yakov and I came as soon as we heard. I must have been, what… 17? It was a shock to all of us. I remember hearing later that thousands of Russian skating fans got together to have candelight vigils for her. Katya Plisetskaya…” Viktor trails off for a moment, appearing to lose himself in memories. “I just remember sitting in here and asking Yakov what would happen to Mrs. Plisetskaya’s little boy. Never did I imagine then that ten years later he’d grow up to be the biggest thorn in my side.”

When Yuri thinks about it hard enough, he does have some memory of the night his parents died. They’re cloudy and fragmented, the memories of a young child. He remembers an ugly pattern on the waiting room chairs that they must have replaced since. He remembers picking up well thumbed magazines and trying to pick out the measly handful of words he knew out of the mess of cyrillic. Anything to distract him from Grandpa’s horrible expression, from that awful sinking feeling in his stomach that his life would be different from here on out. He doesn’t remember Yakov and Viktor being there, but he also wouldn’t have known either of them at that point.

“What was she like?” Yuri asks.

“Very kind for the most part, although I didn’t like it when she criticized me. I was just a kid who didn’t know how to take honest feedback. She was sort of a scatterbrain sometimes. She was late to lessons sometimes, but my mother always told me not to mention it. She was always willing to stay a few extra minutes with me though if I wanted it.”

“Did you know my father too?”

“No,” Viktor says with a sad little shake of his head, “I think we were only introduced once. That was the only time I truly spoke with him.”

Yuri nods, settling back in his seat, absorbing all he’d been told. Most of it he’d known already. His mother had been a skater, beloved by the people of Russia for her beautiful career as a teen. After an injury had knocked her out of competitive skating, she’d continued to teach the sport she loved. Some of the things he hadn’t known. Viktor had been one of her students. She hadn’t been perfect, like Grandpa always seemed to paint her when he spoke of her. The thought is oddly comforting to him. His mother hadn’t been perfect, she’d been human.

“You look a lot like Katya, Yuri.”

“Grandpa told me that too,” Yuri says, thoughts drifting back once more to the reason he was here. He wonders if Grandpa is awake, if he’s in pain. 

He dozes off at some point, limbs curled up into the uncomfortable cage of the chair he sits in. He rouses as Katsuki pats his shoulder.

“They say you can go in now.”

Yuri practically falls on his face as he scrambles to get up, half his limbs asleep from sitting for so long all scrunched up. He hurries his way to the recovery room. Grandpa is lying against the pillows, looking pale and drained, but awake. 

“Yurochka,” Grandpa says, as Yuri steps into the room. The staff have helpfully placed a chair next to the bedside, and Yuri collapses into it. 

“I’m so sorry,” Grandpa says. Yuri blinks in confusion.

“What are you sorry for? I’m just… so glad you’re alright. Did they have to do surgery?”

“No, they just did a procedure to open up the artery. You’ll have to ask the doctor for the name of it.”

One of the vices around Yuri’s chest loosens slightly. He may be young, but he knows how expensive medical bills are, and the fact that there had been no surgery was a relief. 

“How much do you think it’s going to cost?”

“I don’t know Yurochka. Don’t you worry about that though, I’ll figure it out. I always do.” 

Yuri doesn’t believe him. “Well, we won’t talk about that right now. You shouldn’t have any stress. How long do they say you need to stay here?”

“They said something like a few days.”

“I’ll have someone bring over our things then.”

Grandpa shakes his head. “No, no. I want you to go home Yurochka. Get some rest.”

Yuri opens, then snaps his mouth shut. Now isn’t the time or place to argue about it. He tells Grandpa to get more sleep and slips out of the room. 

“Yuri,” Viktor says once he and Katsuki catch up to Yuri, “we want to help with the medical bills.”

“No,” Yuri says, entirely too quickly. He catches himself, slows down. “We’ll be fine. The health insurance will cover most of this.” He knows it’s a lie, but he’s not going to think about it tonight. The last thing he needs is pity money from anyone.

“Yuri, where are you going?”

“Home,” Yuri says shortly, and jabs the button for the elevator. He can hear Viktor’s intake of breath to argue, but Katsuki presumably stops him as no more words come. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow then. Call us if you need anything,” Katsuki says. Yuri turns to glance at them. Katsuki has a hand on Viktor’s upper arm and Viktor is looking down, defeated. Yuri nods at them before slipping away into the solitude of the elevator.

* * *

He manages to hold himself together until he walks through his own front door. He slides to the floor, his back against the door and his nails clutching so hard at his legs he can feel the bite of his nails even through his pants.

After an indeterminate amount of time spent trying to fight against the shaking in his body, Yuri is disturbed by the vibration of his phone against his leg.

[from Otabek]: Is there anything you need? I want to help.

Yuri almost doesn’t respond. There’s nothing he hates more than appearing weak. But the fact is, he is weak right now, and he just needs someone there to help him feel like he isn’t.

[to Otabek]: can you come over?

[From Otabek]: Of course. I can stay too if you don’t feel like being alone all night.

Yuri’s heart feels like it’s curling in on itself. Of course the time he finally gets something he so desperately wants is exactly the time when he can’t appreciate it properly.

[to Otabek]: yea please

[to Otabek]: thanks

When Otabek shows up at his door, Yuri finds himself fluttering around like some mother of three having guests. He apologizes for the mostly-minimal mess, and awkwardly asks if Otabek would like something to drink.

“I could probably use a drink myself,” Yuri laughs nervously as Otabek slips out of his shoes.  
Otabek’s arms are around Yuri before he knows it, and it takes every ounce of willpower Yuri has to not let the lump in his throat bubble up again with tears.

“I’ll remember to bring the six pack next time.”

Yuri has to crack a watery smile at that one. It’s insane to him that Otabek, man of so few words, always knows what to say to him.

They end up sprawled on adjacent couches in the living room watching a shitty 80’s comedy. Not exactly the steamy, romantic first sleepover Yuri’s mind had always supplied him with, but it’s really what he needs right now. Though the movie does a surprisingly good job of keeping him engaged, Yuri’s eyes still slip over to Otabek’s expression as he reclines. He becomes distracted watching Otabek’s eyelids begin to droop, his barely-stubbled cheek dropping to rest against the pillow beneath his head. Yuri stays silent, watching with rapt attention as Otabek slips into sleep. The ordinarily taught line of his jaw relaxes and Otabek suddenly looks more like the teenager he actually is.

Yuri is practically draped over the arm of his own couch now, Otabek’s limp fingers only a small reach away from his own. He’s seized by a sudden ache to twine their hands together, even more so to curl up in the small pocket of space just in front of Otabek’s chest. He swears for a moment that he can actually feel a phantom warmth against his back.

It’s a bit strange to finally allow himself to think these thoughts.

Yuri doesn’t do any of the things he wants to. The idea of surprising someone asleep with unexpected physical contact is vaguely repulsive to him, not to mention that he should be in a more somber mood anyway. Leave it to his brain to be worried about something as petty as a teenage infatuation when his grandfather’s life hung in the balance today.

Yuri slides himself off the arm of the couch, settling himself into his pillow and blanket nest. The movie continues to play out on screen with the sound low. Yuri falls asleep to the steady sound of Otabek’s breathing.

* * *

Yuri sits again at Grandpa’s bedside the next day after practice. Yakov had told him he could skip this once, but Yuri had felt better keeping his body moving. Grandpa looks far better today than he did the day before. Yuri himself is probably the one looking worse for the wear. He slept fitfully, even with Otabek’s calming presence, and the thought of medical costs is still weighing heavily on his mind. He’d asked the lady at the official looking desk what she knew about the cost of a bypass procedure. She’d smiled benignly at him and told him that it would depend on health insurance, and that he might have better luck contacting the company about it. Yuri doesn’t know what health insurance he and Grandpa might have, but he does know that every time he’s gone to the doctor in the past few years, he’s seen Grandpa paying out of his pocket for the visit. That certainly doesn’t bode well for the chances of major procedures being covered, especially at a large hospital like this one.

“Grandpa, since you’re feeling better today I really think we should talk about the bills,” Yuri begins.

“Like I told you Yurochka, I don’t want you worrying about it.”

“That’s the thing, I am worrying about it. I know how expensive hospitals are. I was thinking about it all last night and I thought about something… you said that mama had set aside money for me to go to university, right?”

“Yes, but Yurochka, that’s for your education. It’s not meant to be touched.”

“Grandpa, I don’t want to go to university.”

The words hang in the air between them.

“I know that you love skating. I want to support you in that. But I also never want you to have to work the way I’ve had to work for everything in my life, Yurochka. Do you understand? What if you change your mind later on?”

“If I do, then I’ll find a way to pay myself through school. It’s not that I’ve not given this any thought. Lots of skaters go on to have jobs in the field. Just look at Yakov. He only skated for a short time, then spent the rest of his life being one of the best coaches in the sport.”

“I’m not sure if you’d have the patience for coaching, Yurochka. But please, just understand that I worry for you.”

“I worry for you too. More than anyone else,” Yuri admits, lowering his eyes. “Which is why I want to give you my money. I won’t use it for university, so we should use it now when we need it.”

“Alright. If that’s the case, then there is no reason why you shouldn’t sit your exams this summer.”

In light of the situation, Yuri keeps his triumphant feelings contained. He knows how difficult this is for Grandpa, to feel like he’s stealing an education from Yuri. But Yuri doesn’t think it can be considered stealing if it’s accepting something that the other person never wanted, or asked for.

When he finally leaves after visitor hours have finished, he catches Grandpa’s pained expression that he’s been trying to hide.

* * *

Surprisingly, after the horrible few days following Grandpa’s heart attack, things begin going rather well for Yuri. Grandpa is doing well with recovery and is back to part time work. Thankfully what’s left of Yuri’s winnings as well as the rest of the scrapped college fund can keep them going for a while longer.

Next comes Mila’s return from Italy. Yuri is the first to spot her shock of red hair popping out of the locker rooms. He dashes over to greet her with something that is a mix between a flying hug attack and a move straight out of a professional wrestling match. She isn’t able to catch him this time, and they end up tussling on the floor like toddlers.

“Oh Yurio! If I’d known you would miss me so much I would never have left you,” she squeals while holding him in a combination headlock/crushing hug.

“Hah, like I missed you,” he shoots back, flailing like a fish out of water to escape her grip, “I just needed someone to argue with again cause Yakov’s losing his edge.”

Katsuki and Viktor’s arrival puts an end to their would-be WWE match, as Mila stands up to fling herself upon them next.

“Vitya, I’d say that I can’t believe that you’re finally retiring, but you know, you’ve fooled us all before so I’ll hold my tongue for now,” she teases, once she’s finally done giving her octopus hugs, as Yuri so lovingly calls them.

“I said the same thing Baba,” Yuri says.

“But Yuuri, I know it’s a lot to ask, since we haven’t known each other for very long and all, but would you bring me along when you go shopping for your wedding suit?”

“Of course. I mean, it’s going to be a small wedding, so I don’t know if we’ll be buying new suits just for that,” Yuuri says as Mila hangs off his arm.

“We’re buying new suits lyubov moya. I’m not letting you get married to me in any of your atrocious ones,” Viktor says firmly.

Yuri hides his smile as he rummages in his bag for his skates. It’s good to have everyone back.

It definitely causes a bit of guilty feeling in Yuri’s gut to admit it to himself, but his life has gotten substantially easier since breaking up with Thomas. He can spend more time now focused on his upcoming tests and polishing the last of his routines. He hasn’t heard from Thomas since the break-up, but under Mila’s advice decides it’s for the best not to poke at a fresh wound.

August slips away into September as Yuri sits for his exam. Grandpa gives him a tight smile and a celebratory dinner when he comes home from testing, obviously still struggling with the decision they’ve made. Yuri has no regrets. 

Kseniya gives him a call when she receives his results. Standing in his living room, his hands only tremble a tiny bit as he rips open the envelope holding the culmination of his high school education. 

He scans the numbers and graphs as quickly as he can, trying to glean the big picture from the mess of information. 

“Zaichik, you’ve passed everything!” Kseniya concludes, barely able to hug him with the extrusion of her belly. 

They hold a small get together the next night, just the people from the rink, Grandpa, Kseniya, and Otabek. Yuri loses count of how many times his hair gets ruffled, something he’d hoped he might be done with now that he’s grown taller than half the people present. 

Yuri slips into the kitchen to get a moment away from everyone. Viktor’s been into the wine more than strictly necessary, and is loudly telling stories from his school days. Restless, but unwilling to go back to the group, Yuri begins to load the dishwasher. He hears someone else enter the room and doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s Otabek.

“I’ll rinse them before you put them in the washer, if you want,” Otabek says, drawing parallel with Yuri’s shoulder. They’re the same height now.

“Thanks,” Yuri murmurs, shifting to make space for Otabek’s broader frame at the sink. 

“I also wanted to say that I’m proud of you,” Otabek says, just like that. Yuri wonders where he finds the ease to say those sorts of things.

“It’s not like I’m graduating university or something.”

“Graduating high school is a big deal. There were times when I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to.” Yuri pauses when he hears that.

“Why is that?”

“Oh, just because I was such a delinquent, what with my motorcycle and my tattoos,” Otabek deadpans. Yuri knows that he’s being distracted but he latches onto the new and interesting morsel.

“I’ve never seen your tattoos.”

“I had to get them in places where they wouldn’t show past skating costumes.” 

“Well then, they can’t be all that wild can they,” Yuri says teasingly. 

“All I’ll say about that is that I got one of them with JJ when we were rinkmates.”

“Ugh what the hell Beka? I thought I could trust you,” Yuri says, not even bothering to catch himself as the nickname slips past his lips. It’s been on his mind for ages now, and he figures why not.

Otabek cracks a smile. “Anyway, I came in here because I’m going to head out in a few minutes. I have to be up early tomorrow so I can’t stay any later.”

“Ah, I gotcha,” Yuri says, trying his best not to sound too disappointed. His heart leaps as he turns and finds Otabek with his arms open. He hadn’t noticed other times he’s hugged Otabek, but he smells subtly of fresh aftershave. Yuri inhales as deeply as he dares, trying to lodge the scent in his brain. Then the moment is over and Otabek is gone leaving Yuri with nothing else but to rejoin his party.


End file.
